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By the Bend of the River 





BY THE BEND 
OF THE RIVER 

TALES OF CONNOCK 
OLD AND NEW 


BY 

CHARLES HEBER CLARK 

(MAX ADELER) 11 


I 


LLUSTRATED 


J 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 





\* . 

T £3 . 

. t rA ?'' 



Copyright, 1914, by 
Charles Heber Clark 


©Cl, A379988 


0C1 13 19W 

/h-o . a 


BY THE BEND OF THE RIVER 


these rather frivolous little tales were written; at 
Connock, where the quiet river bends to the east- 
ward, and below, where it turns sharply toward the 
south through the cleft in the long hill-range. In 
the bends of the river the wooded crests of the hills 
shadowed in the water indicate depth on depth, 
while the white streamers of the rushing locomotives 
double themselves far down beneath the unruffled 
surface, and all around is loveliness. 

It is a great thing to live a long life in a region of 
entrancing beauty. Wherever you turn your eyes 
in our sweet country you have a view of fairyland. 

All the far-reaching country-side is charming; 
there are no fairer views of billowy hills and grassy 
meadows. But the valley of the river presents the 
most alluring of them all, for the perfect landscape 
must include water. 

The Connock folks do not care so much for straight 
rivers. Our little river sinuates; it winds in and 
out and around and about among the everlasting 
hills which are clothed by the green trees as with a 
rustling garment; and by one great bend, forming 
almost half a circle, the village lifts itself to the 
high hilltop, the fitting background for the shining 
stream at the base. 

Before I start to turn this particular bend of the 
river I would say a word or two of thankfulness. 

( 5 ) 


6 


BY THE BEND OF THE RIVER 


I thank: 

The Cosmopolitan Magazine of New York for 
permission to reproduce the first tale with the ac- 
companying illustration; 

The Saturday Evening Post of Philadelphia for 
the generous contribution of several illuminating 
cuts; 

The Windsor Magazine and The Leisure Hour of 
London, England, for pictures originally produced 
by them; 

The people of Connock for all their love and kind- 
ness to me, long-continued; and 

The Celestial Power which, amid the bitter trag- 
edies of life, permits us to have the privilege of en- 
joying innocent mirth. 


The Author. 


CONTENTS 


I PAGE 

Grandma Pevey 11 

II 

The Millionaires 28 

III 

The Great Natural Healer 43 

IV 

Frictional Electricity 70 

V 

The Rally at the Forge 84 

VI 

The Fortunate Island 98 

VII 

The Reform Campaign in Meriweather 
County 181 


( 7 ) 


8 


CONTENTS 


VIII PAGE 

An Old Fogy 200 

IX 

The Flying Dutchman 227 

X 

Mr. Skinner’s Night in the Underworld . 242 

XI 

JlNNIE 288 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

By the Bend of the River Frontispiece 

PAGE 

They Got the Barrel Ashore 21 

Bad News eor Mrs. Grimes 37 

“And Here’s a Pistol ’ll Blow Your Brains 
Out” 55 

“Is That You, Mordecai Barnes?” 83 

The Band From Angel Bluffs 184 

The Flying Dutchman 228 


“I Cussed the Thunderstorm” 


233 



I 


GRANDMA PEVEY 

T HE small man with the side-whiskers and eye- 
glasses and the clerical coat and collar who 
sat near to us as we chatted in the cool of 
the evening on the hotel porch at Eaglesmere seemed 
to take no interest in the conversation until Judge 
Woodbury began to tell stories of peculiar people 
he had known. Then the stranger, who turned out 
to be the Reverend Mr. Jefferson, pastor of the Mis- 
sion Church over near Aramink Creek, pulled his 
chair nearer and listened with close attention. 
When the Judge ended, Mr. Jefferson said: 

“Pardon me, but speaking of peculiar people, did 
any of you ever happen to know Grandma Pevey — 
Mrs. Algernon Powell Pevey of Connock, Pennsyl- 
vania? No? Well, I don’t want to appear to try 
to diminish the oddity of the persons to whom this 
gentleman here has alluded, but really it does seem 
to me that the oddity of Grandma Pevey was even 
more remarkable.” 

Judge Woodbury said he hoped the stranger would 
do the company the favor of presenting the facts 
respecting the old lady referred to. 

“Grandma Pevey,” said the minister, drawing 
his chair still nearer to the group and then tilting 
it backward against the wall of the house, “was a 
little woman with a remarkably fresh complexion 
(ID 


12 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


and the brightest black eyes you ever saw. She 
had had a life of hard work and care, but now in 
her last days a distant relative left her five thousand 
dollars and she began to think of really enjoying 
life. She would sit for hours, day after day, by the 
library window knitting or reading the newspaper 
or talking to Charley when Charley happened to 
be in the house. She was fondly attached to Charley, 
who fully reciprocated her affection. 

“And besides, Charley was her sole heir and not 
the kind of a man to look coldly on five thousand 
dollars. 

“Grandma Pevey was a little bit fidgety because 
her life was so quiet and uneventful and sometimes 
she would express a wish for something or other out 
of the ordinary. For example, I remember one 
morning she said to Charley she would give any- 
thing if she could see her own skeleton. But Charley 
soothed her and quieted her down and persuaded 
her to get her mind off of the subject; and of course 
the thing sort of blew over; though Grandma’s mind 
almost all the time appeared to have a yearning for 
something or other; something quaint; she hardly 
knew what. 

“One day while she was reading the morning 
paper she took her scissors and cut a paragraph 
out of it. Then she folded the slip and put it away 
in her work-bag. She said nothing to anybody, 
not even to Charley, but we saw that the paper 
had been cut and we noticed that Grandma would 
take out the slip every now and then and read it 
eagerly and sigh; and then she would have a far- 
away look in her dear old eyes. 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


13 


“ After a while she became moody and low-spirited. 
We had forgotten all about the newspaper clipping 
and we could not imagine what was the matter with 
her. Her depression worried us a good deal, and 
as it grew deeper, Charley one day went off for Dr. 
Bonum and had him come around to look into 
Grandma’s case. 

“The doctor examined her tongue and counted 
her pulse and listened to her heart-beat and breath- 
ing and asked her about her feelings and then he 
called Charley into the other room and said: 

“ ‘There is nothing the matter with Grandma 
physically. Her health is perfect. My belief is 
that she has something on her mind that is dis- 
tressing her. If she won’t confide it to you, take 
my advice and send for her minister. In my judg- 
ment she is in need of spiritual help of some kind.’ 

“So of course Charley went around in a hurry 
for the Reverend Doctor Potts and when he came he 
shut the door and sat close to Grandma and asked 
her to speak freely with him in the kind of frank 
confidence that a believer should have with her 
minister. 

“Grandma was inclined to reserve, and so he 
went over everything in the Catechism and the 
Confessions, item by item, skipping nothing that 
was essential or even important, and he found 
Grandma absolutely sound on every point. 

“He was as much puzzled as Dr. Bonum had 
been, but after a while he said to her: 

“ ‘My dear Mrs. Pevey, a very long experience 
with such matters induces me to believe that you 


14 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


have upon your mind something that is worrying 
you.’ 

“ ‘I have/ said Grandma. 

“ ‘You know me too well/ said Dr. Potts, ‘to 
suspect me of any desire to be inquisitive with 
respect to things that you may wish to hold in 
sacred privacy. But sometimes a person can find 
courage- to overcome the instinct of reserve in speak- 
ing to a clergyman whom she respects. Use your 
own pleasure about it; but, if you think I can help 
you at all, I beg you not to shrink from opening 
your mind to me. Are you longing for something?’ 

“ ‘Yes/ said Grandma. 

“Dr. Potts was silent for a moment. Then he 
said: 

“ ‘Well, I can do nothing more than to assure 
you of my tender sympathy and to declare that I 
will help you if I can.’ 

“ ‘It is so queer/ said Grandma. 

“ ‘What is so queer?’ asked Dr. Potts anxiously. 

“ ‘The object of my longing. It is so very, very 
queer.’ 

“ ‘My dear Mrs. Pevey, the world is full of strange 
things. Indeed, we are all strange beings. You 
puzzle me. You want something queer, you say? 
Unusually queer? Queerer than anything you ever 
wanted before?’ 

“ ‘Much queerer.’ 

“Dr. Potts said nothing, hoping that she might 
go on and free her mind. His curiosity was excited. 
But Grandma held her peace. Then Dr. Potts rose 
to take leave, and he was just about to shake hands 
with Grandma when she said to him: 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


15 


“ ‘Am I too big to go into a barrel?’ 

“Dr. Potts sat down quickly. His curiosity was 
becoming inflamed. 

“ ‘I don’t know,’ he said; ‘I suppose not. But 
why — ? Bless my soul, my dear Mrs. Pevey, what 
do you want to get into a barrel for?’ 

“ ‘Read that,’ said Grandma, handing Dr. Potts 
the slip from the newspaper. 

“ ‘Ah!’ said Dr. Potts, as he ran his eye over the 
paragraph. ‘Yes, I see. H’m! This is the story 
of a woman who actually went over Niagara Falls 
in a barrel.’ 

“ ‘And I want to,’ said Grandma Pevey, quietly. 

“‘Go over — go — you; you go over the Falls in 
a barrel! Why, Mrs. Pevey, it would be extraordi- 
nary. You would certainly be killed.’ 

“ ‘But I’m going to do it,’ said Grandma Pevey 
firmly, with her black eyes snapping. ‘I’m going 
right over those Falls in a barrel; if that woman 
could do it I can do it.’ 

“But Grandma was stubborn and so Dr. Potts 
went out and hunted up Charley and told him all 
about it. 

“ ‘I am willing,’ he said, ‘to do almost anything 
in the line of duty, but the way I look at it, helping 
a venerable Christian woman to swim the Falls in 
a barrel hardly seems to me to be a sacerdotal func- 
tion. If I were you I would go in and try to see 
if you can’t persuade Grandma to hunger for some- 
thing else.’ 

“Charley always was patient with Grandma and 
anxious to help her to have cheerfulness, so he under- 


16 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


took, in the most affectionate way, to explain to her 
the objections to the project upon which she had 
set her heart. 

“ ‘In the first place, Grandma/ he said, ‘it would 
be a clear waste of effort. You go over safely; we 
fish you out and unbarrel you, and absolutely noth- 
ing has been accomplished excepting that you have 
revolved on your own axis, so to speak, and the 
human race remains just as wicked as ever. And, 
anyhow, if you will look backward through the 
pages of history you will find that the best women 
never went over the Falls in barrels; Cornelia the 
mother of the Gracchi, for example/ 

“ ‘Maybe she was afraid it would make her giddy/ 
said Grandma. 

“ ‘I don’t think so/ said Charley. ‘She was just 
trying to set a good example to her boys/ 

“ ‘Charley/ she said, ‘all my life, ever since I 
was a young girl, I’ve been sweeping and boiling and 
darning and cleaning up. Day after day, month 
after month, year after year, for seventy or more 
years: sweeping, boiling, darning and cleaning up. 
Now I am determined to have some excitement. 
I have earned it. The chance won’t last much 
longer. I am positively determined to do what 
I want to do in spite of the opposition of my family/ 
“ ‘Well, Grandma/ said Charley, ‘I think I can 
say that I understand your feelings and enter into 
them. You are entitled to have some fun in your 
own way, and I tell you frankly that if I can see my 
way clear to help you I will.’ 

“ ‘Then get me a tight barrel at once/ 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


17 


“ ‘I’m not sure I can find a really tight and strong 
barrel/ said Charley, ‘or one that would fit you. 
If I knew a man who could measure you for a barrel 
and build it so’s you would be comfortable, maybe 
I might hunt him up, but there’s nobody of that 
land anywhere about here.’ 

“ ‘Always something !’ said Grandma. ‘I don’t 
want a tailor-made barrel, but one that will be tight 
to water and will set loosely on me. I saw one at 
Budge’s grocery store on Tuesday.’ 

“ ‘But that is a vinegar barrel, Grandma; and 
I’d feel that it wasn’t treating you right to send 
you over the Falls in such a thing as that. It would 
excite remark.’ 

“ ‘I was always fond of the smell of vinegar, and, 
no matter what you say, I have ordered Budge to 
send that barrel home, and if you won’t help me 
take it to the Falls, I will check it through myself 
and hire a man up there to head me in and roll me 
over the edge.’ 

“So Charley saw there was no use trying to divert 
her mind from it and he went around to Budge’s 
grocery store and bought the vinegar barrel and rolled 
it home. Then he fixed a three-legged stool on the 
inside and ran a rubber pipe with a valve through 
the head of the barrel, and arranged to have the 
head held on with iron clamps. When everything 
was ready he went in and said to Grandma Pevey: 

“ ‘Grandma, I’ve got that barrel fixed up com- 
fortable for you, but the thought occurred to me 
that it would be a good idea to make a trial trip, 
you might call it, over Gilroy’s mill-dam, before we 


2 


18 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


try Niagara Falls. This would help you to get 
yourself kind of adjusted to the motion and to learn 
how it feels, and if all goes well we might do the 
Falls some day next month, when you will be sort 
of more at home in the water/ 

“ Grandma Pevey said she would just as lief try 
the mill-dam, so Charley put the barrel out in the 
side-yard and lifted her in, and when she had sat 
down on the stool he stuffed newspapers all around 
her to pack her and hold her steady, only leaving 
her arms free. The job was about done and he 
was almost ready to wheel her down to Gilroy’s 
pond, when she said: 

“ ‘ Charley, I forgot my overshoes/ 

“ ‘You won’t want them, Grandma/ he said. 
But Grandma Pevey was a woman who knew her 
own mind, and she made Charley take out all those 
newspapers one by one, and when he had hunted 
up her overshoes, he lifted her out of the barrel and 
put them on for her and lifted her back again and 
packed her in the barrel a second time snug and tight 
so that she would be sure not to wobble. 

“ ‘How do you feel now, Grandma?’ he asked her. 
“ ‘Perfectly comfortable/ she said, ‘and perfectly 
happy/ 

“Although he had some not unnatural misgivings, 
it was a source of satisfaction to Charley that he 
was able, in such a small way, to contribute to 
Grandma’s enjoyment. He put the barrel on a 
Wheelbarrow and stood the head with the iron clamps 
beside it and started off down the road towards 
Gilroy’s. 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


19 


“ Several people asked him as he passed what he 
had in the barrel, but Charley thought it prudent 
to return evasive answers for fear of bringing ridi- 
cule upon a grandparent about whose reputation 
for good sense he was always solicitous. 

“ Charley lifted the barrel off at the very edge 
of the mill-pond, where the water was running fast, 
and he made Grandma promise that if she changed 
her mind and wanted to give the thing up after he 
had put the head on the barrel and screwed up the 
clamps, she would knock on the barrel twice, whilst 
if her enthusiasm still was high and she wanted to 
go over the dam, she would knock four times. Well, 
of course, when everything was ready she knocked 
four times and so Charley, faithful to the last, rolled 
the barrel into the water and let her go. 

“At first the barrel went very fast and rolled 
over and over in a way that anybody would have 
thought would have made Grandma Pevey seasick; 
but it didn’t. Then the barrel went slower and 
slower and threatened to go ashore; but Charley, 
loyal to Grandma in every drop of his blood, kept 
pushing it off with a fishing-pole. 

“Then the barrel turned towards the dam and 
began to move that way pretty swiftly, until at 
last it made a dash for the edge, but instead of going 
over it stuck fast on something or other in the wood- 
work on the comb of the dam. Charley waited for 
a minute or two, hoping it would be swept onward 
by the current, but it wasn’t. Then he tried to 
reach it with the fishing-pole, but the pole was too 
short. 


20 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


“He made a start at wading out to the barrel, 
but he soon found the water was too deep for that, 
and then he was stumped. He sat down on the bank 
of the pool and felt like crying. 

“If you love your own grandmother you can 
understand Charley’s feelings. 

“Extraordinary situation, wasn’t it? But there 
was no time for inaction. There was Grandmother 
Pevey hanging over the edge of the falls and like 
as not she would suffocate or something unless prompt 
measures were taken. 

“It occurred to Charley to go over and hunt up 
Gilroy and see if Gilroy had a boat he would be 
willing to lend. Gilroy was in the mill, all covered 
with flour, and he came right out with Charley. 
Gilroy’s mind had difficulty to grasp the full purport 
of Charley’s explanation. 

“ ‘Your grandmother!’ he exclaimed, ‘caught on 
my dam! Why, where is she?’ 

“ ‘That’s her over there in the barrel,’ said Charley. 

“ ‘Barrelled her! Barrelled your grandmother 
and then tried to chuck her over my dam! Why, 
say, Charley, that’s some kind of matricide or other, 
isn’t it? It’s a penitentiary offence.’ 

“‘She wanted me to do it,’ said Charley, ‘and 
I’ll bet you a quarter she’s enjoying herself this 
very minute; only I must shove her over or she’ll 
cut me out of her will.’ 

“So Gilroy pulled out his flat-bottom boat and he 
and Charley poled her up close to the barrel and 
anchored her there so’s she wouldn’t be swept over, 
and when they got things fixed Charley called out: 

“ ‘Are you all right, Grandma?’ 









. 













They Got the Barrel Ashore 




GRANDMA PEVEY 


21 


“And at once there were four knocks on the side 
of the barrel. 

“ ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ said Charley to Gilroy. 
‘She’s joyous and happy in there; having a bound- 
ing good time. Grandma Pevey’s different from most 
old ladies.’ 

“ ‘Strikes me that way, too/ said Gilroy. 

“ ‘And now/ said Charley, ‘shall we push her 
over the dam or tow her home?’ 

“ ‘Tow her home, of course/ said Gilroy very 
decidedly. ‘If she goes over and the barrel strikes 
the rocks at the foot of the dam there will be a 
dead grandma in there, sure.’ 

“So they tied a line to the ventilating pipe and 
got the barrel ashore and unscrewed the cover. 

“ ‘How are you feeling now, Grandma?’ asked 
Charley. 

“ ‘Fine/ she answered. ‘Did I go over the falls?’ 

“ ‘No, Mrs. Pevey/ said Gilroy, ‘you didn’t. If 
you had gone over you would now be in a better 
world. I wouldn’t let Charley push you over.’ 

“ ‘But I’m going over Niagara/ said Grandma, 
rising from among the packing papers. 

“ ‘Very well, madam/ said Gilroy, firmly. ‘People 
can send their grandmas up Niagara Falls or down 
Niagara Falls or around Niagara Falls, or their 
grandpas or their aunts or all their kin near and far, 
I can’t stop them, but this dam was built for indus- 
trial purposes and I’m not going to allow it to be 
used for homicidal experiments on grandmas.’ 

“ ‘I think you are real mean/ said Grandma Pevey, 
as Charley lifted her out of the barrel and shook her 
free from the newspapers. 


22 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


“So Grandma started off home, Charley rolling 
the barrel after her and turning it over in his mind 
how on earth he was ever going to contrive to keep 
her from trying the Falls. Grandma had a good 
cry when she got back in her own rocking chair, but 
she was firmer than ever in her resolve to going to 
Niagara. 

“As Grandma still had her resolution unshaken, 
Charley was at his wits’ end to know just what to 
do. At last he sent again for Dr. Bonum and said 
to him that certainly the recent marvelous advances 
in medical science must have resulted in the dis- 
covery of some kind of a porous plaster or pharma- 
ceutical preparation or something that would suc- 
cessfully counteract a maddening thirst for going 
over Niagara Falls. But Dr. Bonum said that if 
any inventor had got up such a thing he had kept 
it perfectly quiet. 

“Then Dr. Bonum, after turning the subject over 
in his mind, said the only thing he could think of 
to do would be to send down to the city for Professor 
Lemuel Gudger of the Eclectic Medical College, who 
had some fame as specialist in dealing effectively 
with unaccountable yearnings. 

“Did you know Gudger? He was slick. Pro- 
fessor at the College and some kind of a horse- 
doctor; and they did say he had gifts at second 
sight and as a snake-charmer, besides doing con- 
juring sometimes. 

“However, when he came up to Connock and saw 
Grandma, Charley introduced him as the govern- 
ment inspector of the Falls; which of course seems 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


23 


perfectly scandalous unless you understand that 
Charley really hated falsehood and would never 
have dreamed of lying excepting when he felt as if 
he must do it to soothe Grandma. 

“It was plain enough to see that she took to the 
professor at once; and when he had cross-examined 
her and got the hang, so to speak, of her case, he 
led Dr. Bonum into the next room and shut the 
door and said he thought the best way of dealing 
with this interesting and peculiar mental phenom- 
enon would be to appear to coincide with Grandma 
Pevey’s ideas and to send her over the Falls by sug- 
gestion. 

“Dr. Bonum cleared his throat and tried to look 
as if he understood, and then he said: 

“ ‘And your idea is — ?’ 

“ ‘To mesmerize her. With a few passes I throw 
her into a trance, bringing her directly under the 
influence of my vibrations, and when I am in con- 
trol I excite increased activity in the cells of her 
cerebral cortex. All I have to do then is to give 
her a psychical impression that she is going over 
the Falls, and over she goes; or rather, over she 
thinks she goes. IPs just the same thing, and she 
has quite as much fun out of it.’ 

“Dr. Bonum said it was all right. If Grandma 
Pevey could be satisfied that way, he could; and 
Charley said he didn’t believe the thing would work, 
but he was willing to try anything that would give 
Grandma peace without being actually chucked over 
Niagara. 

“Gudger then told Grandma that he had come 


24 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


to see her to meet her views and all she had to do 
now was to name the day and the government would 
place the entire Falls at her disposal. 

“Grandma timidly asked him if the President 
didn’t think it a little queer for her to want to do 
such a thing. But the professor said to her: 

“ ‘Not at all! Not at all, dear madam! It is 
perfectly reasonable for you to desire to plunge 
over Niagara. There is no danger. It is just a 
delightful afternoon recreation for respectable old 
ladies. The government not only allows it, but 
encourages it. As soon as we can get Congress to 
make the requisite appropriation we are going to 
supply free barrels and to arrange that parties can 
have their photos taken sitting in a barrel with the 
Horseshoe Falls and the rainbow in the background. 
The Committee on Ways and Means are now shaping 
up an act so that if you are not satisfied when you 
made the descent, you can have the head out of your 
barrel and spend the closing hours of the day drift- 
ing about the Whirlpool just like a merry-go-round.’ 

“ ‘But,’ said Grandma Pevey, ‘has the government 
any objection to vinegar barrels?’ 

“ ‘No, madam,’ says the professor. ‘It prefers 
them. It has forbidden coal-oil barrels because they 
make the Falls smell, but vinegar barrels are all 
right.’ 

“Then Grandma sighed and said she wished she 
could go over this very day. She was so much 
excited about the trip that she felt as if she could 
hardly wait. 

“Professor Gudger took from his pocket a shiny 
bit of silver about as big as a dollar, and said: 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


25 


“ 'Now look intently on that, Grandma, and fix 
your mind on the Falls. Now look and look and 
look/ he said, and then he made some passes with 
his right hand and dusted her forehead with his 
thumb. In two minutes Grandma Pevey was dead 
asleep. 

“Then Professor Gudger began to make her be- 
lieve she was on the train for Niagara, that she got 
there all right and that Charley was close behind 
her with the barrel. ‘And now/ he said, ‘you are 
seated in the barrel with your overshoes on and now 
we fasten the head on the barrel and roll you into 
the rapids. Do you hear the Falls roar?’ asked the 
professor. 

“ ‘Plainly/ said Grandma Pevey. 

“ ‘Now you are tossing in the wild waste of waters 
and whirling round and round. How does it feel? , 

“ ‘Per-fect-ly de-light-ful, and I see the rainbow.’ 

“ ‘How very vivid!’ said Dr. Bonum. ‘She must 
see it right through the barrel.’ 

“ ‘It is a mere psychic impression/ said Professor 
Gudger, ‘wholly apart from the nerves of the visual 
organs. Now, Grandma, you go to the brink of 
the Falls with a rush. You plunge, you scurry, you 
swoop, you wobble and cavort. Hah! Look out! 
There you are. You hover on the very brink.’ 

“Grandma clutched her chair with both hands 
and held her breath, while a tender smile overspread 
her dear old wrinkled face. 

“ ‘We are reaching her subliminal consciousness/ 
said Professor Gudger. 

“ ‘ Gee-e-e-Whop ! Over you go! Down you 


26 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


tumble. You reach bottom. Bang! Hah! Why, 
there you are, Grandma. Up comes the barrel safe 
and tight — and now it floats ashore. Lovely, 
wasn’t it?’ 

“ ‘It’s the happiest day of my life,’ said Grandma 
Pevey, ‘and now I want to go around the Whirl- 
pool.’ 

“ ‘Not today, Grandma,’ said the professor. ‘The 
water is drained off because the government is en- 
gaged in putting in a new whizzer and making re- 
pairs. You can go any day next week.’ 

“Then the professor made her believe she was 
fished out and unbarrelled and brought home on the 
train. And when he undid her and fetched her out 
of the trance, she looked around kind of queer for 
a minute and said: 

“ ‘ Charley, were you there?’ 

“ ‘Yes, Grandma.’ 

“ ‘Well, didn’t I tell you I could do it? Now 
do you believe me? And as for Mr. Gilroy and his 
trumpery little mill-dam, I have just no opinion at 
all of them. , 

“If we could only foresee consequences. Far, far 
better would it have been for Charley if he had been 
firm with Grandma Pevey at the start and had 
refused to aid and abet her in her insane desire to 
go over the Falls. For, having tried it once, as she 
believed, nothing would do but she must try it again 
and again; and so Professor Gudger had to run 
up to Connock four or five times a week and stop 
for meals and mesmerize Grandma instead of letting 
her go to Dorcas Society meetings and give her 


GRANDMA PEVEY 


27 


delusive trips over Niagara; and she got fonder and 
fonder of him until one day, when she was called 
hence, and her friends opened her will, it was found 
she had cut off Charley with a blessing and the 
bequest of the vinegar barrel, and had left the whole 
of that five thousand dollars to Professor Gudger. 
Hard, wasn’t it? Hard for Charley, I mean. He 
was so mad he wouldn’t go to the funeral, and to 
this day he declares that the words 1 Grandma’ and 
‘ingratitude’ mean one and the same thing to him.” 
I The supper bell rang as Mr. Jefferson completed 
the narrative and as he moved toward the dining- 
room Judge Woodbury whispered to me: 

“Did you notice he didn’t give Charley’s last 
name? Well, the reason is he is Charley himself.” 


II 


THE MILLIONAIRES 

I T had always been one of the luxuries of the 
Grimeses to consider what they would do if they 
were rich. Many a time George and his wife, 
sitting together of a summer evening upon the porch 
of their own pretty house in our village, had looked 
at the long unoccupied country seat of General Jen- 
kins, just across the way, and wished they had money 
enough to buy the place and give it to the village for 
a park. 

Mrs. Grimes often said that if she had a million 
dollars the very first thing she would do would be to 
purchase the Jenkins place. George’s idea was to 
tear down the fences, throwing everything open, 
and to dedicate the grounds to the public. Mrs. 
Grimes wanted to put a great free library in the house 
and to have a club for poor working-women in the 
second-floor rooms. George estimated that one 
hundred thousand dollars would be enough to carry 
out their plans. Say fifty thousand dollars for pur- 
chase money, and then fifty more invested at six 
per cent to maintain the place. 

“But if we had a million,” said George, “I think 
I should give one hundred and fifty thousand to the 
enterprise and do the thing right. There would 
always be repairs and new books to buy and matters 
of that kind.” 


( 28 ) 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


29 


But this was not the only benevolent dream of 
these kind-hearted people. They liked to think 
of the joy that would fill the heart of that poor, strug- 
ling pastor, Mr. Borrow, if they could tell him that 
they would pay the whole debt of the Presbyterian 
Church, six thousand dollars. 

“And I would have his salary increased, George,” 
said Mrs. Grimes. “It is shameful to compel that 
poor man to live on a thousand dollars.” 

“Outrageous,” said George. “I would guarantee 
him another thousand, and maybe more; but we 
should have to do it quietly for fear of wounding 
him.” 

“That mortgage on the Methodist Church,” said 
Mrs. Grimes. “Imagine the happiness of those 
poor people in having it lifted! And so easy to do, 
too, if we had a million dollars.” 

“ Certainly, and I would give the Baptists a hand- 
some pipe-organ instead of that wheezing melodeon. 
Dreadful, isn’t it?” 

“You can get a fine organ for $2,000,” said Mrs. 
Grimes. 

“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t be mean about 
it; not mean on a million dollars. Let them have 
a really good organ, say for $3,000 or $3,500; and 
then build them a parsonage, too.” 

“The fact is,” said Mrs. Grimes, “that people like 
us really ought to have large wealth, for we know 
how to use it rightly.” 

“I often think of that,” answered George. “If I 
know my own soul I long to do good. It makes my 
heart bleed to see the misery about us, misery I am 


30 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


absolutely unable to relieve. I am sure that if I really 
had a million dollars I should not want to squander 
it on mere selfish pleasure, nor would you. The 
greatest happiness any one can have is in making 
others happy; and it is a wonder to me that our 
rich people don’t see this. Think of old General 
Jenkins and his twenty million dollars, and what 
we would do for our neighbors with a mere fraction 
of that!” 

“For we really want nothing much for ourselves,” 
said Mrs. Grimes. “We are entirely satisfied with 
what we have in this lovely little home and with 
your $2,000 salary from the bank.” 

“Almost entirely,” said George. “There are some 
few little things we might add in — just a few, but 
with a million we could easily get them and more 
and have such enormous amounts of money left.” 

“Almost the first thing I would do,” said Mrs. 
Grimes, “would be to settle a comfortable living for 
life on poor Isaac Wickersham. That man, George, 
crippled as he is, lives on next to nothing. I don’t 
believe he has two hundred dollars a year.” 

“Well, we could give him twelve hundred and not 
miss it, and then give the same sum to Widow Clausen. 
She can barely keep alive.” 

“And there’s another thing I’d do,” said Mrs. 
Grimes. “If we kept a carriage I would never ride 
up alone from the station or for pleasure. I would 
always find some poor or infirm person to go with 
me. How people can be so mean about their horses 
and carriages as some rich people are, is beyond my 
comprehension.” 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


31 


It is a delightful pastime, expending in imagination 
large sums of money that you haven’t got. You need 
not regard considerations of prudence. You can give 
free rein to your feelings and bestow your bounty 
with reckless profusion. You obtain almost all the 
pleasure of large giving without any cost. You feel 
nearly as happy as if you were actually doing the 
good deeds which are the children of your fancy. 

George Grimes and his wife had considered so 
often the benevolences they would like to undertake 
if they had a million dollars that they could have 
named them all at a moment’s notice without refer- 
ring to a memorandum. Nearly everybody has 
engaged in this pastime, but the Grimeses were to 
have the singular experience of the power to make 
their dream a reality placed in their hands. 

For one day George came flying home from the 
bank with a letter from the executors of General 
Jenkins (who died suddenly in Mexico a week or 
two before) announcing that the General had left 
a million dollars and the country-seat in our village 
to George Grimes. 

“ And to think, Mary Jane,” said George when the 
first delirium of their joy had passed, “the dear old 
man was kind enough to say — here, let me read it 
to you again from the quotation from the will in the 
letter: ‘I make this bequest because, from repeated 
conversations with the said George Grimes, I know 
he will use it aright. ’ So you see, dear, it was worth 
while, wasn’t it, to express our benevolent wishes 
sometimes when we spoke of the needs of those who 
are around us?” 


32 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


“Yes, and the General’s kind remark makes this 
a sacred trust, which we are to administer for him.” 

“We are only his stewards.” 

“Stewards of his bounty.” 

“So that we must try to do exactly what we think 
he would have liked us to do,” said George. 

“Nothing else, dear?” 

“Why, of course we are to have some discretion, 
some margin; and besides, nobody could guess pre- 
cisely what he would have us do.” 

“But now, at any rate, George, we can realize 
fully one of our longing desires and give to the people 
the lovely park and library?” 

George seemed thoughtful. “I think, Mary Jane,” 
he said, “I would not act precipitately about that. 
Let us reflect upon the matter. It might seem unkind 
to the memory of the General just to give away his 
gift almost before we get it.” 

They looked at each other, and Mrs. Grimes said: 

“Of course there is no hurry. And we are really 
a little cramped in this house. The nursery is much 
too small for the children and there is not a decent 
fruit tree in the garden.” 

“The thing can just stay open until we have time 
to consider.” 

“But I am so glad for dear old Isaac. We can take 
care of him, anyhow, and of Mrs. Clausen, too.” 

“To be sure,” said George. “The obligation is 
sacred. Let me see, how much was it we thought 
Isaac ought to have?” 

“Twelve hundred a year.” 

“H-m-m,” murmured George, “and he has two 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


33 


hundred now; an increase of five hundred per cent. 
I’m afraid it will turn the old man’s head. However, 
I wouldn’t exactly promise anything for a few days 
yet.” 

“Many a man in his station of life is happy upon 
a thousand.” 

“A thousand! Why, my dear, there is not a man 
of his class in town that makes six hundred.” 

“ George?” 

“Well?” 

“We must keep horses, and there is no room to 
build a stable on this place.” 

“No.” 

“Could we live here and keep the horses in the 
General’s stables across the way, even if the place 
were turned into a park?” 

“That is worth thinking of.” 

“And George?” 

“Well, dear?” 

“It’s a horrid thing to confess, but do you know, 
George, I’ve felt myself getting meaner and meaner 
and stingier and stingier ever since you brought the 
good news.” 

George tried to smile, but the effort was unsuc- 
cessful; he looked half vexed and half ashamed. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it just that way,” he said. 
“The news is so exciting that we hardly know at 
once how to adjust ourselves to it. We are simply 
prudent. It would be folly to plunge ahead without 
any caution at all. How much did you say the debt 
of the Presbyterian Church is?” 

“Six thousand, I think.” 


3 


34 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


“A good deal for a little church like that to owe.” 

“Yes, but — ” 

“You didn’t promise anything, Mary Jane, did 
you, to Mrs. Borrow?” 

“No, for I had nothing to promise. But I did tell 
her on Sunday that I would help them liberally if I 
could.” 

“They will base large expectations on that, sure. 
I wish you hadn’t said it just that way. Of course, 
we are bound to help them, but I should like to have 
a perfectly free hand in doing it.” 

There was silence for a moment, while both looked 
through the window at the General’s place across 
the way. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Mrs. Grimes. 

“Lovely. That little annex on the side would 
make a snug den for me; and imagine the prospect 
from that south bedroom window! You would enjoy 
every look at it.” 

“George?” 

“What?” 

“ George, dear, tell me frankly, do you really feel 
in your heart as generous as you did yesterday?” 

“Now, my dear, why press that matter? Call it 
meaner or narrower or what you will; maybe I am 
a little more so than I was, but there is nothing to 
be ashamed of. It is the conservative instinct assert- 
ing itself; the very same faculty in man that holds 
society together. I will be liberal enough when the 
time comes, never fear. I am not going to disregard 
what one may call the pledges of a lifetime. We 
will treat everybody right, the Presbyterian Church 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


35 


and Mr. Borrow included. His salary is a thousand, 
I think you said?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I’m willing to make it fifteen hundred right 
now, if you are.” 

“You said, you remember, it ought to be two 
thousand.” 

“Who said so?” 

“You did, on the porch here the other evening.” 

“I never said so. There isn’t a preacher around 
here who gets that much. The Episcopalians with 
their rich people only give eighteen hundred.” 

“And a house.” 

“Very well, the Presbyterians can build a house 
if they want to.” 

“You consent then to pledge five hundred more to 
the minister’s salary? ” 

“I said I would if you would, but my advice is 
just to let the matter go over until tomorrow or next 
day, when the whole thing can be considered.” 

“Very well, but, George, sixty thousand dollars 
is a great deal of money, and we certainly can afford 
to be liberal with it, for the General’s sake as well 
as for our own.” 

“Everything depends upon how you look at it. 
In one way the sum is large. In another way it 
isn’t. General Jenkins had just twenty times sixty 
thousand. Tremendous, isn’t it? He might just as 
well have left us another million. He is in heaven 
and wouldn’t miss it. Then we could have some 
of our plans more fully carried out.” 

“I hate to be thought covetous,” answered Mrs. 


36 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


Grimes, “but I do wish he had put on that other 
million.” 

The next day Mr. Grimes, while sitting with his 
wife after supper, took a memorandum from his 
pocket and said: 

“I’ve been jotting down some figures, Mary Jane, 
just to see how we will come out with our income 
of sixty thousand dollar s.” 

“Well?” 

“If we give the place across the street for a park 
and a library and a hundred thousand dollars with 
which to run it, we shall have just nine hundred 
thousand left.” 

“Yes.” 

“We shall want horses, say a carriage-pair, and a 
horse for the station-wagon. Then I must have a 
saddle horse, and there must be a pony for the chil- 
dren. I thought also you might as well have a gentle 
pair for your own driving. That makes six. Then 
there will have to be, say, three stable-men. Now, 
my notion is that we should put up a larger house 
farther up town, with all the necessary stabling. 
Count the cost of the house and suitable appoint- 
ments, and add in the four months’ trip to Europe 
which we decided yesterday to take next summer, 
and how much of the fifty-four thousand do you 
think we shall have left at the end of the year?” 

“But why build the house from our income?” 

“Mary Jane, I want to start out with the fixed 
idea that we will not cut into our principal.” 

“Well, how much will we have over?” 

“ Not a dollar ! The outlay for the year will approx- 
imate fifty-six thousand dollars.” 




Bad News for Mrs. Grimes 



THE MILLIONAIRES 


37 


“Large, isn’t it?” 

“And yet I don’t see how we can reduce it if we are 
to live as people in our circumstances might reason- 
ably be expected to live.” 

“We must cut off something.” 

“That is what I think. If we give the park and 
the library building to the town, why not let the town 
pay the cost of caring for them?” 

“Then we could save the interest on that other 
hundred thousand.” 

“Exactly, and nobody will suffer. The gift of the 
property alone is magnificent. Who is going to 
complain of us? We will decide now to give the 
real estate and then stop.” 

Two days later Mr. Grimes came home early from 
the bank with a letter in his hand. He looked white 
and for a moment after entering his wife’s room he 
could hardly command utterance. 

“I have some bad news for you, dear — terrible 
news,” he said, almost falling into a chair. 

The thought flashed through Mrs. Grimes’s mind 
that the General had made a later will which had 
been found and which revoked the bequest to George. 
She could hardly whisper: 

“What is it?” 

“The executors write to me that the million left 
to me by the General draws only about four per cent 
interest.” 

“George!” 

“Four per cent! Forty thousand dollars instead 
of sixty thousand! What a frightful loss! Twenty 
thousand dollars a year done at one breath!” 


38 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


“Are you sure, George?’’ 

“Sure! Here is the letter. Read it yourself. 
One-third of our fortune swept away before we have 
a chance to touch it!” 

“I think it was very unkind of the General to turn 
the four per cents over to us while somebody else gets 
the six per cents. How could he do such a thing? 
And you such an old friend, too!” 

“Mary Jane, that man always had a mean streak 
in him. I’ve said so to myself many a time. But, 
anyhow, this frightful loss settles one thing; we 
can’t afford to give that property across the street 
to the town. We must move over there to live, and 
even then, with the huge expense of keeping such a 
place in order, we shall have to watch things nar- 
rowly to make ends meet.” 

“And you never were good at retrenching, George.” 

“But we’ve got to retrench. Every superfluous 
expenditure must be cut off. As for the park and 
free library, that seems wild now, doesn’t it? I 
don’t regret abandoning the scheme. The people of 
this town never did appreciate public spirit or gen- 
erosity, did they?” 

“Never.” 

“I’m very sorry you spoke to Mrs. Borrow about 
helping their church. Do you think she remembers 
it?” 

“She met me today and said they were expecting 
something handsome.” 

Mr. Grimes laughed bitterly. 

“That’s always the way with those people. They 
are the worst beggars! When a lot of folks get to- 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


39 


gether and start a church it is almost indecent for 
them to come running around to ask other folks to 
support it. I have half a notion not to give them a 
cent.” 

“Not even for Mr. Borrow’s salary?” 

“Certainly not! Half the clergymen in the United 
States get less than a thousand dollars a year; why 
can’t he do as the rest do? Am I to be called upon 
to support a lot of poor preachers? \A good deal of 
nerve is required, I think, to ask such a thing of me.” 

Two weeks afterward Mr. Grimes and his wife 
sat together again on the porch in the cool of the 
evening. 

“Now,” said Grimes, “let us together go over these 
charities we were talking about and be done with 
them. Let us start with the tough fact staring us 
in the face that, with only one million dollars at 
four per cent and all our new and necessary expenses, 
we shall have to look sharp or I’ll be borrowing money 
to live on in less than eight months.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Grimes, “what shall we cut out? 
Would you give up the Baptist organ that we used 
to talk about?” 

“Mary Jane, it is really surprising how you let 
such things as that stay in your mind. I considered 
that organ scheme abandoned long ago.” 

“Is it worth while, do you think, to do anything 
with the Methodist Church mortgage?” 

“How much is it?” 

“Three thousand dollars, I think.” 

“Yes, three thousand from forty thousand leaves 


40 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


us only thirty-seven thousand. Then, if we do it 
for the Methodists, we shall have to do it for the 
Lutherans and the Presbyterians and swarms of 
churches all around the country. We can’t make 
flesh of one and fowl of another. It will be safer 
to treat them all alike; and more just, too. I think 
we ought to try to be just with them, don’t you, 
Mary Jane?” 

“And Mr. Borrow’s salary?” 

“Ha! Yes! That is a thousand dollars, isn’t it? 
It does seem but a trifle. But they have no children 
and they have themselves completely adjusted to 
it. And suppose we should raise it one year and die 
the next? He would feel worse than if he had just 
gone along in the old way. When a man is fully 
adjusted to a thing it is the part of prudence, it seems 
to me, just to let him alone.” 

“I wish we could — ” 

“Oh, well, if you want it; but I propose that we 
don’t make them the offer until next year or the 
year after. We shall have our matters arranged 
better by that time.” 

“And now about Isaac Wickersham?” 

“Have you seen him lately?” 

“Two or three days ago.” 

“Did he seem discontented or unhappy?” 

“No.” 

“You promised to help him?” 

“What I said was, ‘We are going to do something 
for you, Isaac.’ ” 

“Something! That commits us to nothing in 
particular. Was it your idea, Mary Jane, to make 
him an allowance?” 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


41 


“Yes.” 

“There you cut into our insufficient income again. 
I don’t see how we can afford it with all these expenses 
heaping up on us; really I don’t.” 

“But we must give him something; I promised it.” 

George thought a moment and then said: 

“This is the end of September and I sha’n*? want 
this straw hat that I have been wearing all summer. 
Suppose we give him that. A good straw hat is 
‘something.’ ” 

“You remember Mrs. Clausen, George?” 

“Have we got to load up with her too?” 

“Let me explain. You recall that I told her I 
would try to make her comfortable, and when I found 
that our circumstances were going to be really strait- 
ened, I sent her my red flannel petticoat with my 
love, for I know she can be comfortable in that.” 

“Of course she can.” 

“So this afternoon when I came up from the city 
she got out of the train with me and I felt so half- 
ashamed of the gift that I pretended not to see her 
and hurried out to the carriage and drove quickly 
up the hill. She is afraid of horses, anyhow.” 

“Always was,” said George. 

“But, George, I don’t feel quite right about it, 
yet; the gift of a petticoat is rather stingy, isn’t it.” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“And, George, to be perfectly honest with our- 
selves now, don’t you think we are a little bit meaner 
than we were, say, last June?” 

George cleared his throat and hesitated, and then 
he said: 


42 


THE MILLIONAIRES 


“I admit nothing, excepting that the only people 
who are fit to have money are the people who know 
how to take care of it.” 


Ill 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 

T HE man whose chair was next to mine on 
the deck of the steamer Arcturus as she speeded 
toward Liverpool, had never been inclined 
to talk freely w T hen we found ourselves together. He 
had responded with politeness if a word or two had 
been addressed to him, but had refrained from say- 
ing anything that would have led to further con- 
versation. He was a man of pleasing appearance, 
with brown hair and beard, and with kindly brown 
eyes looking through gold spectacles. He seemed to 
me to be about thirty-five years old, and his face 
made an impression of refinement and intelligence. 
I should have thought him, at a glance, a man who 
could talk agreeably and with profit to his hearer. 

The sea was rough one afternoon, and as we s?it 
side by side watching the tossing waves and the 
rolling of the ship, I was impelled to say to him: 

“I wonder if there really is any remedy for sea- 
sickness?” 

He started, almost as if I had struck him. Half 
raising himself from his recumbent position, he 
looked at me in a frightened way, and I, thought- 
lessly, not knowing precisely what to do or say in 
such a queer, unexpected situation, asked further: 
“You don’t know of one, do you?” 

Instead of making answer, the color left his face 
( 43 ) 


44 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


and he struggled out of his chair and his wraps and 
dashed toward his deck state-room, which he entered, 
closing the door. 

Of course I thought my words had operated upon 
his mind by suggestion so that he had felt sea-sick- 
ness coming on. I was sorry I had alluded to the 
matter, but I considered that he would have had 
the attack at any rate, sooner or later, and so I 
could not feel very culpable. 

But an hour afterward I saw him again upon the 
deck, appearing to be perfectly well, and in a few 
moments the deck-steward came and removed his 
chair to the other side of the steamer. Then I felt 
angry; and I resolved to try to discover in what 
manner I had given offence to him by making what 
seemed to be an inoffensive observation. 

For two days he evaded me, but on the third day 
I found him hidden in a comer of the smoking- 
room; I looked him in the face, and said to him: 

“I am sorry if I offended you by what I said the 
other day. Of course, you know, I had no idea 
that my remark would be disagreeable.” 

His eyes were cast downward for a moment and 
he hesitated to reply. Then he said: 

“It was not disagreeable, I assure you. Not 
that, but ” 

Then he stopped and looked again at the table. 

I was about to turn away, when he raised his hand 
with an appealing gesture, and said : 

“You simply frightened me.” 

“I did! I frightened you? I don’t at all under- 
stand.” 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 45 


“How could you?” he replied, with a faint smile. 
“My conduct must have seemed very strange and 

rude. I should like ” he said, and then his 

voice and his eyes dropped, and a few seconds elapsed 
before he spoke again. “I should like to explain the 
matter to you — to tell you my story, if you would 
care to hear it, and if you would accept it in con- 
fidence.” 

I could not refuse his offer. Besides, my curiosity 
was strongly aroused. He invited me into the parlor 
adjoining his state-room, and when he had locked 
the door and both of us were seated, he said: 

“My name is John P. Tadcaster, and I am the 
victim of misfortune; the most strange and dreadful 
misfortune. I am, in every fiber of my nature, a 
truthful man; but as you look at me sitting here, 
I am incarnate falsehood; yes, a living, walking, 
miserable mass of deception.” 

He placed his elbows upon the little table and 
covered his face with his hands. I thought he would 
fall to weeping. Recovering himself, he said: 

“About a year ago I made up my mind to learn 
the Spanish language, with the notion that I could 
enter the consular service of the United States and 
obtain appointment to one of the South American 
stations. That I might concentrate my attention 
upon this study and get away from all business and 
social diversion, I went up to the little town of 
Borax, in Sullivan County, Pennsylvania. Borax, 
you may know, but probably you don’t know, is 
away off in the mountains among the hemlock forests, 
and is really almost as much apart from civilization 


46 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


as if it were in the wilds of Oregon. The people 
are simple-minded, and usually ignorant, and yet 
many of them are quite well off — the hemlock-bark 
industry having brought no little money to the town 
and the neighborhood. Borax has a fairly good 
hotel, and I had secured a suite of rooms on the 
second floor, looking right out over the tiny lake. 
It was an ideal place for study. 

“The stage that brought me from the railway 
station, eleven miles away, reached Borax at four 
o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. As I stepped from 
the stage, in front of the hotel, and was about to 
direct the host to care for my trunk, a man rushed 
up to me in a condition of excitement and asked: 

“ ‘Are you a doctor?’ 

“ ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. 

“That was a fatal response. Why did I not 
simply say ‘No,’ and turn away? Alas! if we could 
foresee the consequences of our words and actions! 
The man at once concluded that I was a physician, 
and seizing my arm he hurried me around the comer 
to the porch of a house where a crowd was collected. 
We pushed through the people, and gaining the 
porch, I found a boy of fourteen lying upon the 
floor with a gash in his head and with his face very 
pale. 

“ ‘He fell off of the porch roof, doctor,’ said one 
of the bystanders, addressing me, ‘and cut his head 
and broke his leg.’ 

“ ‘Why don’t you send for a doctor?’ I asked. 
‘You have a doctor in Borax?’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ was the reply, ‘Dr. Bowser; but he went 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 47 


down to Harrisburg yesterday and won't be home 
till Monday.' 

“Without saying more, I had the blood washed 
from the boy’s head, and the hair clipped away, and 
then I drew the slight cut together and fastened it 
with some court-plaster. Then I felt the boy's leg. 
I know absolutely nothing about such things, and the 
leg did not seem to me to be broken. But the boy 
said it was, and all his friends and all the bystanders 
said it was, and who was I to disregard such testi- 
mony? I sent for two shingles and muslin and tied 
the leg up in splints as well as I could. I am apt 
to be feverish when I go into a new country, so I 
always carry quinine pills with me and I never leave 
home without paregoric. I felt somewhat uneasy 
about the boy when the leg was bandaged, and I had 
an impulse to go to the very end of my resources 
so as to give him all the chances that were within 
reach. I gave him two quinine pills and a teaspoon- 
ful of paregoric, and had him carried home on a plank 
and put to bed. 

“ Really, I thought no more about the boy, but 
turned at once to my studies. 

“On Sunday morning, just as I had finished break- 
fast, Andrews, the landlord, told me that some of 
my friends wished to see me on the hotel porch. 
I went out, and there was the wounded boy, and Dr. 
Bowser (who had returned a day sooner than he had 
expected), and half the people in Borax. Three 
rousing cheers greeted me as I came through the 
doorway. The boy rushed up and threw his arms 
about me; his mother kissed me; the man who 


48 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


had called me to the case cried vehemently, ‘Hurrah 
for doc!’ while Dr. Bowser seized my hand and said: 

“ ‘Wonderful, doctor, wonderful! I never saw a 
cure like it! A broken leg knit and well and sound 
in four days! Amazing! I congratulate you! If 
you’re going to stay in Borax I might as well quit!’ 

“I hardly knew what to say, but I was resolved 
to have no misunderstanding of my position, so I 
exclaimed : 

“ ‘ Gentlemen, I am no physician. I assure you 
I never opened a medical book in my Hfe. I don’t 
know one bone from another.’ 

“A perfect howl of derisive laughter expressive of 
unbelief arose from the crowd. Everybody thought 
my protest just a bit of fun, or else the impression 
was that I had resolved to pretend ignorance so 
that I could have rest while I stayed at Borax. 

“Dr. Bowser laughed more heartily than any of 
the other Boracians, and, taking me by the hand, 
he said, ‘It’s of no use, doctor. Skill like that can’t 
be disguised. It was masterly.’ 

“ ‘I don’t believe the boy’s leg was really broken,’ 
I said. 

“ ‘Yes it was, doc,’ shouted at least a dozen men 
in the crowd, addressing their answer to Doctor 
Bowser. ‘I seen it as limp as a wet towel,’ said the 
man who first summoned me to take the case. ‘The 
leg was broken all to flinders; you could fold it like 
a two-foot rule.’ 

“ ‘Gentlemen!’ I said, ‘I have come here to study. 
I am no doctor. I am in blind, blank ignorance of 
the whole business. I thank you for your kind 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 49 


behavior and your good wishes, but I ask as a favor 
that you will believe me and will not attempt again 
while I am in Borax to call me to a case of ill- 
ness.’ 

“I could perceive that nobody believed me, not 
even Dr. Bowser. Everybody laughed, and Dr. 
Bowser said, shaking my hand: ‘All right, doctor. 
We shall respect your wish to be let alone; but I 
think you might help out a poor fellow like me if 
I get into a tight place/ 

“I withdrew to my room. Well, well indeed, had 
it been for me if I had taken the stage on Monday 
morning and for ever fled from Borax! 

“For ten days I had peace, and in the quiet of 
that lovely neighborhood, in the bracing mountain 
air, I felt that I could conquer any branch of learn- 
ing. I made wonderful headway with my Spanish, 
and really the incident to which I have referred had 
almost passed from my mind. 

“But one day Mrs. Andrews, the wife of the man 
who kept the hotel, knocked upon my chamber- 
door, and when I opened it she said: ‘Doctor, my 
little girl seems quite ill. Won’t you come down- 
stairs and look at her?’ 

“I had admired this child, and more than once 
had taken her upon my knee and fondled her. I 
said to the mother, ‘Mrs. Andrews, I am very, very 
sorry, but I am not a physician, and it would not 
be right for me to treat Mary. Why don’t you call 
for Dr. Bowser?’ 

“ ‘He has gone across the mountain,’ she an- 
swered, ‘and cannot get back until tomorrow. 


4 


50 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


Please, please come and see Mary. Fm afraid she 
is very sick/ 

“ ‘Mrs. Andrews/ I said, ‘if I could help her I 
should be glad to go, but I cannot. It would be 
wrong for me to attend her, I might do serious 
injury/ 

“Mrs. Andrews looked at me with disbelief plainly 
depicted upon her countenance, and then she began 
to cry. Imagine my feelings! To have a mother, 
a respectable woman, regard me as a hard-hearted 
brute who would not move a step to save the life of 
her darling little one! You can guess what I suf- 
fered. I did not know what more to say, and Mrs. 
Andrews, with her apron to her face, turned away. 
I could hear her sobbing all the way downstairs. 
Then plainly I heard her relate to her husband, in 
a broken, tearful voice, how I had refused to see 
the child. 

“Andrews was angry. He applied to me several 
revolting expressions; and three or four men who 
were sitting in the hotel office indicated that they 
entered fully into the view he took of me. 

“ ‘I’ll go up and see him/ I heard Andrews say. 
He came up hurriedly, and three of his friends came 
with him. His tone lost some of its severity as he 
presented himself to me. 

“ ‘Doctor/ he began. 

“ ‘Not doctor, if you please, Mr. Andrews, I am 
not a physician/ 

“ ‘That kind of thing is all very well, doctor/ he 
replied, ‘when there’s nothin’ the matter. Ef you 
want to hide or keep a secret I’m willin' to help you; 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 51 


but I put it to you as between man and man, is it 
fair to let a poor little innocent baby suffer because 
you are up to somethin? Hang me ef I think it is.’ 

“ ‘Try the man who keeps the drug store/ I said. 

“ ‘Try no man in no drug store !’ he answered with 
scorn and anger. ‘Not while a big city doctor’s in 
this yer very house. I guess not! Now, will you 
come and cure that child or won’t you come? That’s 
what I want to know. If she dies her blood’ll be 
on your head.’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ exclaimed Fullerton, the butcher, who 
had come upstairs with Andrews, ‘and there’ll be 
more blood too. I’ll bet you’ll see some lynch law 
in this town.’ 

“ ‘I’ll get the rope myself/ added Burns, the tax- 
collector. ‘See ef I don’t.’ 

“‘ Gentlemen/ I said, ‘on my word of honor I 
am not a physician and in my ignorance I may do 
the child grave harm, but, as you will persist in 
refusing to believe what I say, I suppose I must 
see the child. Lead me to her.’ 

“The poor little one had a high fever and her 
face was crimson. I hadn’t the least idea what 
to do. To save my life I couldn’t remember any 
of the medicines commonly given to fever patients. 
But I took out my paregoric bottle, put six drops in 
a spoon with water and chipped a fragment from a 
quinine pill and gave it to the child. Then I told 
her mother to give her as much very cold water as 
she wanted. 

“That was at two o’clock in the afternoon. I 
went out for my usual walk down the ravine through 


52 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


which the lake found its outlet. The day was so 
pleasant that I took my book with me and sat for 
two or three hours by the stream studying. I heard 
the supper-bell ringing as I approached the hotel; 
but nobody was in the dining-room. There upon the 
porch stood Mrs. Andrews smiling and holding in 
her arms the child, from whom every particle of fever 
had fled, and Andrews and Fullerton and Burns and 
the waitress and the bartender and the stableman 
were there with her. 

“They gave a shout as I appeared, and Andrews, 
coming toward me and clasping my hand, said: 

“ ‘ Doctor, I don’t understand your way of be- 
havin’, but sure and certain you’ve got hold of doc- 
torin’ by the right end; the baby’s well.’ 

“ ‘Well?’ I exclaimed. 

“ ‘Perfectly,’ said Mrs. Andrews. ‘The fever 
stopped ten minutes after you gave her that wonder- 
ful medicine. Feel her pulse.’ 

“ ‘I couldn’t tell anything about it,’ I said, ‘if I 
should feel her pulse. It was the cold water that 
cured her.’ 

“Everybody, from Andrews down to the stable- 
man, roared with laughter, and then Andrews said: 

“ ‘Doctor, I don’t care how queer you behave; all 
I got to say is that you kin stay in this yer house 
board-free’s long as you’ve a mind to. It’s magic!’ 

“ ‘He’s just a Great Natural Healer,’ said Burns. 

“I had to kiss the child, who certainly looked 
well, and then we passed into the supper-room. 

“Borax fairly rang with the report of this mar- 
velous cure, and the hotel office was crowded all 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 53 


the evening with people who discussed it. My 
popularity was so great that I could not venture 
out upon the porch without having a dozen or two 
men coming up to have the honor of shaking hands 
with me. 

“On the next Saturday night while I was stand- 
ing in the office the stage drove up and a woman 
got out and called for some one to help her boy to 
descend. The boy was about twelve years old, and 
he was so ill that Andrews had to carry him into 
the house. 

“ ‘Here’s another chance for you, doctor/ the 
landlord said as he passed me. 

“ ‘No/ I answered, ‘if the boy’s sick send for 
Dr. Bowser.’ 

“The mother, Mrs. Collins, was quite willing to 
do so, but of course Bowser was away; he was 
always away; and so, unless I wanted to be regarded 
as an inhuman monster, I simply had to go to attend 
the patient. From the way Geordie (they called 
him Geordie) looked I was sure he would be dead 
before morning anyhow, and though I hadn’t the 
least notion whether his malady was typhoid fever 
or measles, I gave him one quinine pill and a tea- 
spoonful of paregoric, as usual. Can you blame me? 
What would you have done? They were the only 
medicines I Imew about, and I thought they were 
harmless. 

“You will hardly believe me, but after leaving 
the boy I hadn’t got to the bottom of the stairs 
before I heard exclamations of joy, and — well, to 
make the story short, Geordie sat up in half-an-hour 


54 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


and at dinner next day he ate enough to satisfy three 
ordinary boys. I never knew whether he had over- 
eaten himself or was just shamming. Anyhow, Dr. 
Bowser came round that same evening, and asked 
me to go with him to his office. 

“When we got there, he offered me a cigar and 
said: 

“ ‘Do you know you’ve got all Sullivan County 
wild about you? The cure of that Collins boy yes- 
terday was the most wonderful thing I ever saw.’ 

“The boy, he said, had some frightful malady — 
I never could remember the names of those things, 
and Bowser said he’d as soon think of trying to cure 
the worst case of leprosy. 

“ ‘Old man,’ he said, ‘what is your secret? 
Haven’t any? Why, it’s almost supernatural! If 
I had your power I’d soon be the richest man in 
the county. I wish you’d go into partnership with 
me.’ 

“Again, with deep solemnity of manner, I ex- 
plained to Bowser that he and his neighbors were 
mistaken, that I had never studied medicine. 

“ ‘0 come now,’ he said, with a smile. ‘You 
can’t keep that up with me. What is your full 
name?’ 

“ ‘John P. Tadcaster,’ I said. 

“ ‘Just so,’ answered Dr. Bowser, blithely rising 
and taking from the mantel a Physicians’ Directory. 
Turning over the leaves he handed the book to me 
and pointed to a name on one of the pages. Will 
you believe me? There was the name of John P. 
Tadcaster, and the information that he graduated 





















































“And Here’s a Pistol ’ll Blow Your Brains Out" 








THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 55 


from the Medical School of the University of Sus- 
quehanna in 1884. 

“ ‘So it’s of no use/ said Bowser, ‘to try to hide 
the facts any longer/ and he laughed. 

“I made up my mind then and there that I should 
leave Borax at the end of the week. I had supposed 
that there was not another John P. Tadcaster on the 
rolling globe, and I knew it would be useless now 
to try to induce the people of Borax to believe the 
truth. 

“The next day Andrews came up to my room 
while I was in the midst of hard study and said 
there was a man downstairs who wanted to see me. 
I refused to be seen, but in fact the impudent fellow 
was standing behind Andrews, and he pushed right 
into the room and shut the door behind him, locking it. 

“ ‘My wife/ he said, ‘has blood-pisinin’, and I 
want you to cure her.’ 

“T wish you would go away/ I said angrily. 
‘Call Dr. Bowser. How dare you come into my 
room in this manner and tell me what you want?’ 

“ ‘Never mind about no Bowser/ he answered. 
‘Never mind about him nor no other doctor. My 
wife’s like to die and I’ll have you or nobody. I know 
your tricks and I’m ready for you.’ 

“ ‘Tricks/ I said, ‘tricks, you villain!’ 

“ ‘Well, call ’em what you’ve a mind to, I don’t 
care. Only I’ll stand no foolin’. You write me 
out a perscription and there’s five dollars, and here’s 
a pistol ’ll blow your brains out ef you don’t do it/ 
and he actually presented a revolver to my head. 

“Consider now, my friend, the situation I was in! 


56 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


I didn’t know if the ruffian was insane. It was 
hardly an occasion for tranquil reflection. I took 
up a pen, and first writing a vigorous protest which 
I proposed to lodge with Andrews lest I should be 
prosecuted for malpractice, I dashed off the follow- 
ing pretended prescription and handed it to the man : 



In other words, Be gustibus non est disputandum. 
My handwriting is so crabbed that the thing really 
looked a little like a prescription. The man took 
it and laid upon my table five dollars which I crum- 
pled up into a pellet and flung at his head. He 
went away. 

“That night I went over to Perkins’s drug store 
and found the clerk there alone. 

“ ‘Was there a man in here today,’ I asked, ‘with 
a prescription written by me?’ 

“ ‘Yes, doctor,’ he said. 

“ ‘What did you do with it?’ 

“ ‘Filled it, of course.’ 

“ ‘Filled it! You didn’t try to fill it, did you?’ 

“ ‘ Why, certainly,’ said the youth, smiling. ‘ That’s 
what prescriptions are for, isn’t it?’ 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 57 


“I sat down upon the chair by the soda-fountain. 
I felt faint. 

“ ‘Were there any poisons in the medicine ? 9 1 
asked. 

“ 4 You ought to know/ he said. ‘Two or three, 
I think; but not enough to kill. But, anyhow, 
what’s the odds? Mrs. McGuire is well. ’ 

“ ‘What Mrs. McGuire?’ 

“ ‘The woman you wrote the prescription for. 
She is going to a picnic in the morning. Says she 
never felt so well in her life. McGuire says you’re 
the doctor for his money’s long’s you stay here.’ 

“Well, I went back to my studies hoping that 
I had heard the last of this nonsense; but I might 
have known better. Really it is wonderful how 
swiftly rumor flies in a country like that, where 
there are no newspapers to carry information. 
Within a week invalids flocked to Borax in such 
numbers that two more stages were put upon the 
line and Andrews hadn’t a vacant room in his house. 
He began to draw plans for a new wing, and I could 
not move from my room without being solicited to 
perform a cure. 

“One scoundrel, from Purgatory Springs, hobbled 
about after me on crutches and insisted upon telling 
me that he had been crippled for twenty years and 
had taken tons of medicine. I evaded him for sev- 
eral days; but one morning he caught me as I went 
into the office for my mail and he asked me if I 
wouldn’t just put my hand on his lame leg above 
the knee. I was born good-natured, and like a fool 
I granted his request. A moment later he gave a 


58 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


howl of delight, tossed his crutches over in the 
corner and began to caper about the room. Then 
he projected himself at me with a manifest purpose 
to embrace me, but I dodged him, flew upstairs, 
and locked myself in my room. 

“Do you suppose that man had really been lame? 
I don’t know. I doubt it. I had my suspicions of 
Andrews at the time, but how could I prove any- 
thing? 

“However, I made up my mind to leave Borax, 
and I notified Andrews to retain a seat in the stage 
for me on the following Saturday. But he did not 
do it. I could never find out exactly how the thing 
was worked, but you could see with your own eyes 
three stages arrive at Borax every afternoon and 
nobody ever saw one go away. Conspiracy, you 
say? Very likely. And so I sent out and tried to 
hire a wagon to take me away, but there was not 
a man in the neighborhood who would consent to 
perform the service for me. 

“I resolved that I would leave if I had to walk, 
but I did dislike to make the journey on foot, over 
bad mountain roads, and then I could not bring 
myself easily to consent to abandon my trunk. 

“That woman Collins and her boy still remained 
at the hotel, and Mrs. Collins used to look at me in 
a most trying manner while we sat at the table in 
the dining-room. I couldn’t make her out for a 
while. She looked stupid, but for all I could tell 
she might develop low cunning. Anyhow, I merely 
nodded to her as we passed, treating her with cold- 
ness; perhaps with disdain. 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 59 


“On the Saturday I had arranged to leave Borax, 
I was sitting in my room trying to learn a Spanish 
vocabulary, when I heard a woman’s screams. For 
a moment I was startled, but I have presence of 
mind, so I checked my curiosity and merely locked 
the door. 

“For an hour or more there was hubbub and 
excitement downstairs, but I remained calm. Then 
there was a knock upon the door. I did not answer. 
Then I heard Doctor Bowser’s voice calling me. 
I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. 

“ ‘Busy, are you?’ asked Bowser. 

“ ‘Yes, very busy. What’s the matter?’ 

“ ‘Oh, nothing; nothing much. Only I thought 
you might care to know that poor little Geordie 
Collins has passed away.’ 

“ ‘Dead?’ 

“ ‘Dead. He dropped right over out by the 
pump just after eating some damson plums, and life 
was extinct before I could get to him.’ 

“ ‘Is the boy really dead?’ I asked. 

“Absolutely and conclusively dead,’ said Bowser 
solemnly and with strong emphasis. ‘I think I 
ought to know when a boy is dead, oughtn’t I? I’m 
no great doctor like you, but I’m not just a mere 
chump. I tell you the boy breathed his last at 8.34 
this very morning.’ 

“I am sure that I am not a cruel man, nor a hard- 
hearted man, I am not even ungenerous; but (I am 
half ashamed to tell it) a feeling of deep, pure joy 
thrilled my soul when I learned that Geordie was 
beyond my reach. Under the circumstances it 


60 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 

would have been indecent, would it not, in spite of 
my repugnance for his mother, if I had refrained 
from every manifestation of feeling? I went down- 
stairs with Bowser, who seemed to be crying. Do I 
doubt that he was crying? I can hardly tell. But, 
anyhow, there in th^ parlor lay poor Geordie, cold 
and white and still, on the red cushion of the settee, 
and Mrs. Collins knelt beside him, moaning and 
weeping and wringing her hands. All the invalids 
of the hotel were in the room or at the door, and 
three-quarters of the people of Borax were in the 
office or on the porch or looking in at the windows. 

“I had a shiver of apprehension as I came into 
the room; but what can you do with a boy that 
has had his vital spark completely quenched? I 
went up to the sofa, and looked down upon the calm, 
still face, white as marble, and then I felt sorry I 
had had such wicked feelings about the child. My 
heart began to ache for the mother too. I said to 
her that she must try to bear up and be patient; 
that Geordie was happier now than if he were with 
us; and that he wouldn’t be willing to come back 
to us if he could. 

“Then I took the boy’s hand in mine and leaned 
over him to kiss him. 

“Imagine my feelings as I saw his eyes open! 
Then he sneezed twice, sat straight up on the red 
cushion, said, ‘Where’s Ma?’ and then flung his 
arms about his mother’s neck. 

“What would you have thought of that, my 
friend? Was the boy cataleptic, or had his scan- 
dalous old mother mesmerized him, or was Geordie 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 61 


just up to some kind of game with me, or had Bowser 
drugged him? I can’t tell. But, no matter; there 
was Geordie, risen right from the dead, everybody 
thought, and the people — well, I know you won’t 
expect me even to try to tell of the excitement that 
ensued. Borax was just crazy; and I felt the iron 
fingers of Fate closing around me. I knew I should 
never get away from that disgusting town unless by 
stealth. I was hardly safe in my room; but the 
locked door did protect me for a time. 

['• “Food, however, is a necessity. I would not go 
down to dinner. I rang for it to be brought to me. 
Andrews brought it himself, and after depositing 
the tray upon the table and looking out of my win- 
dow to see how the new wing would fit to the north 
end of the hotel, he said : 

“ 'Doc, I have an offer for you.’ 

“ 'Andrews/ I said, 'please withdraw. I am not 
open to offers.’ 

“ 'But you wouldn’t be impolite to a lady, would 
you? You’re not that kind of a man, unless I’m 
wrong in my calc’lations.’ 

“ 'To what lady do you refer?’ 

“ 'To the Widder Collins, little Geordie’s ma. 
She has designated me to say to you that she has 
two good farms over in Loyalsock township, five 
hundred dollars in bank and a first mortgage on the 
new Methodist Church at Huckleberry Bend, and 
ef you are willin’ to marry her, she’s willin’ and so’s 
Geordie.’ 

“My friend, could you, without reflection, have 
framed a reply to such an extraordinary proposition? 


62 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


I couldn’t, and so the delay gave Andrews time to 
remark: 

“ ‘Ef you don’t mind marryin’ a widder I’d advise 
you to take that offer. She’s a woman that’s cal- 
c’lated to make home happy.’ 

“The time had now come for action. I must fly. 
But how? I sat up most of the night, meditating 
upon a plan of escape, and before morning dawned 
I thought I had one prepared. I had resolved to 
bribe one of the stage-drivers to take me away while 
Borax slept. 

“But a better chance presented itself that very 
day. Dr. Bowser came over to see me about nine 
o’clock, and when he had made himself at home 
in the rocking-chair in my room, he cleared his 
throat a couple of times, and looking timidly at me, 
he said: 

“ ‘ Things are not even in this world, are they?’ 

“I was not willing to commit myself until I could 
find out what he was after, so I did not answer. 

“ ‘A country doctor,’ he continued, ‘has a hard 
life, driving here and there, miles and miles, up hill 
and down dale, night and day, and half the time 
getting no pay or taking his pay in poultry and horse- 
feed. And yet here other people just have money 
chucked at them — fairly chucked at them, by 
Fortune.’ 

“ ‘Bowser,’ I asked, ‘what are you driving at?’ 

“ ‘Oh, well,’ he said gloomily, ‘it’s no use of talk- 
ing to you, of course; but while I can hardly get 
bread, no matter how much I try, and no matter 
if I work myself to death, here’s big money lying 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 63 


right in your hands and you won’t even take the 
trouble to shut your fingers over it.’ 

“ ‘Dr. Bowser/ I said sternly, ‘I’ve told you over 
and over again that I am not a physician and that 
it would be wicked, simply a bare-faced fraud, for 
me to permit these foolish people about here to think 
me one.’ 

“He looked at me wearily, his face plainly indicat- 
ing that he still did not believe me; then he said: 

“ ‘Doctor or no doctor, nobody can deny that 
I am a doctor. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You 
agree to work with me, and let me attend to the 
scientific end, while you just stand by and look on, 
and I’ll give you two thirds of the receipts, and I’ll 
get rich on the other third.’ 

“I was about to refuse this proposition upon the 
ground that I could not consent to become a party 
to a dishonorable arrangement, when he continued: 

“ ‘I’ve got a patient, old Mrs. Brown, over here 
at Scipio, who will die sure under my treatment. 
She’s rich, too, and if we could cure her ’ 

“I saw at once that if I could reach Scipio in 
Bowser’s carriage, I should have a chance to get 
away. 

“ ‘I will visit Mrs. Brown with you/ I said. 

“‘You will!’ shouted Bowser, jumping up with 
such violence that he upset the rocking chair. ‘Hoo- 
ray! Doctor, I knew your heart was right. When 
shall we go?’ 

“ ‘Now/ I said. 

“He went out to get his horse. I put into an 
envelope that I placed upon the table the sum that 


64 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


I owed Andrews for board; then I packed as much 
of my clothing as I could get into a hand-bag, and 
sat down to wait for Bowser. 

“We went downstairs together, and as we passed 
through the office Andrews looked at me and my 
valise suspiciously. But Bowser explained the mat- 
ter to him and he seemed much relieved. Looking 
around as I took my seat in the buggy I saw Mrs. 
Collins waving her handkerchief at me from the 
parlor window, while Geordie tried to climb one of 
the posts of the porch. I never saw a boy of his 
years who presented a more vigorous appearance. 

“We reached Scipio at half-past eleven o’clock, 
and Bowser tied his horse in front of Mrs. Brown’s 
house. J. Manderson Brown, her son, opened the 
door for us. He looked grave. Bowser introduced 
me, and Mr. Brown said in a low voice, as his coun- 
tenance overspread with hopefulness: 

“ 4 Thank you, sir; I have heard much of you.’ 

“Of course, as you may imagine, I couldn’t do 
an earthly thing for poor Mrs. Brown, but Bowser 
insisted that I must act as if I were treating her; 
so I gave her nine drops of paregoric in sugar and 
water, and left sixteen quinine pills with directions 
that she should take one every four hours. 

“The dear old lady looked gratefully at me as 
I stood by her bed-side, and when I bade her good- 
bye she told me she felt better already. Bowser 
said to young Brown, downstairs, that he thought 
now the promise was distinct for recovery. 

“But how should I contrive to get away from 
Bowser? I asked him if he would mind driving 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 65 


about a little bit so that I could see the town, and 
he said he would be glad to show Scipio to me. We 
drove and drove until at last I saw a drug store, and, 
as good fortune would have it, the store was right 
across the street from the railway station. 

“I asked Bowser to hitch his horse while I bought 
some medicine. We spent an hour in the drug store, 
but no train came, and Bowser at last proposed to 
start for home. I thought I heard a train coming, 
and I went to the front door; but it was a freight 
train and it did not stop. Then I actually saw a 
passenger train approaching from the opposite direc- 
tion, and I asked Bowser if he would mind going 
around to the grocery store and getting some 
crackers for me, while I looked up something in 
the Pharmacopoeia that lay upon the druggist’s 
counter. 

“ Bowser went upon the errand, and no sooner 
had he turned the corner than I went out, took my 
valise from the buggy, dashed over to the station 
and entered a car. The train started at once, and 
I felt half-ashamed of myself as I looked through 
the window and saw poor old Bowser slowly coming 
back to the drug store with the bundle of crackers 
in his hand and his head bent downward. No doubt 
he was thinking how rich he would be by that time 
next year. But you can’t blame me, can you, for 
running away somehow or other? 

“You would naturally think that would be the 
end of my story; but it isn’t. Just six months after- 
wards I was sitting in my library at home when the 
servant brought me a card. It had on it the name 


5 


66 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


‘J. Manderson Brown/ I was really scared. But 
the man had run me down. I couldn’t get away. 
And was I to be bluffed and bull-dozed in my own 
house? No sir! So I went down into the parlor 
to see him. To my astonishment he greeted me 
warmly, clasping my hand and even manifesting 
some emotion. 

“ ‘ Doctor/ he said as he resumed his seat upon 
the sofa, ‘I owe you more than I can ever hope to 
tell you.’ 

“ ‘Your mother, then, fully recovered?’ 

“ ‘Poor mother is dead.’ 

“ ‘I am very sorry!” I said, ‘but what then is 
the ?’ 

“ ‘I will explain. Your medicine acted like magic. 
Her system responded instantly to your treatment, 
and in less than a week she was about the house 
and as well as she had ever been. In fact, better; 
she really seemed to have renewed her youth. She 
ascribed it all to you, and words cannot convey a 
notion of her gratitude. She longed to see you and 
tell you what her feeling for you was. But, alas, 
three or four months later another malady assailed 
her, and as you had disappeared in a mysterious 
manner, leaving no traces of your whereabouts, she 
did not have proper treatment from that man 
Bowser, and so she died. 

“ ‘You wrong poor Bowser,’ I said. 

“ ‘No, he means well, but he is dull; while you! 
Oh, well, you simply have genius, wonderful, wonder- 
ful genius ! 

“ ‘And now,’ continued Brown, ‘my mother was 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 67 


a woman whose gratitude never expressed itself in 
barren language. She re-wrote her will after her 
life was saved by you and she left you twenty thou- 
sand dollars. I have it with me, here/ and Brown 
presented a swollen wallet. 

“ ‘I won’t take a dollar of it/ I said calmly. 

“ ‘What?’ he exclaimed, as the blood flushed his 
face. 

“ ‘I should be a swindler if I took your mother’s 
money/ I said. ‘I am no physician and I never 
did her a particle of good. It was all humbug.’ 

“The man seemed stunned for a moment. Then 
he got up and walked about. Resuming his seat, 
he said: 

“ ‘You must take this money.’ 

“ ‘I won’t do it.’ 

“ ‘I heard that you were queer/ he said, ‘and 
that you would insist that you are no doctor, and 
as I never met a man of that kind before I just give 
up trying to understand you; but there’s one thing 
I can understand/ and he shook the wallet angrily 
at me. ‘Yes, sir, I can understand one thing, and 
that is you can’t insult the memory of my dead 
mother!’ 

“ ‘Far, far be it from me, Mr. Brown/ I said, ‘to 
think of such a thing.’ 

“ ‘Very well, then/ he exclaimed, ‘you take the 
legacy; her dying request almost was that I should 
put the money into your hands. Now you take it 
or there’s going to be trouble.’ 

“ ‘What kind of trouble?’ I asked. 

“ ‘Why/ he said, ‘I’ll prosecute you. I’m under 


68 THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 


bonds as the executor of my mother’s estate to see 
to it that her wishes are fulfilled, and I’m going to 
do my duty, no matter who has to suffer.’ 

“ ‘But,’ I said, ‘you can’t punish a man for refus- 
ing to accept money. You can’t put him into prison 
for such a thing as that.’ 

“ ‘Yes, you can,’ answered Brown. ‘It is felony. 
I knew of a man once in New Jersey who was sent 
to jail for ten years because he wouldn’t take a legacy 
left him by his aunt. I’d have made it twenty years.’ 

“ 'That seems a little bit hard, too, doesn’t it?’ 
I suggested. 

“ ‘Not hard,’ responded Brown sternly, ‘when a 
man sets himself up to say what another person 
shall do with her money and tries to block the 
wheels of justice. Not at all hard. But I don’t 
want to resort to extreme measures. I’d hate to 
have you hauled into court. I ask you to take this 
money as a favor to my sainted mother.’ 

“What would you have done, sir, under such per- 
plexing circumstances? I consented to take the 
money on condition that in signing a receipt I should 
protest in writing that I am no doctor and that I 
accepted the bequest under compulsion. Brown 
was satisfied, and when our business was ended he 
shook hands with me and left. 

“I could not feel sure that I should ever find 
peace and an uninterrupted opportunity to study the 
Spanish language so long as I remained at home. 
I determined to go to Europe and to hide myself 
somewhere amid the mountains of Switzerland for a 
few years. I thank you for listening to me. It has 


THE GREAT NATURAL HEALER 69 


lightened my burden to tell you the story of the 
persecution I have endured.” 

Tadcaster and I arose, and together we passed 
out of the parlor. As we did so, I saw the deck- 
steward point him out to Dr. Mullen, the ship’s 
surgeon, who seemed to have been inquiring for 
Tadcaster. A smile overspread Mullen’s counte- 
nance as, with both hands extended, he stepped 
briskly forward and greeting my companion, said: 

“Have I the honor to address the great Doctor 
Tadcaster?” 

Tadcaster did not hesitate. He plunged into his 
state-room and closed the door. 

I never saw him again; unless he was the man 
with a clean-shaven face and a slouched hat over 
his eyes whom I saw at Liverpool, dressed in shabby 
clothes, creeping out of the ship over the steerage 
passengers’ gangway. The man was built like Tad- 
caster, but it may have been some other person. 

I am going to Borax some day to look up the facts 
for myself. I feel that this story will not have a 
satisfying conclusion unless I can report that Dr. 
Bowser has married the widow Collins and adopted 
Geordie. 


IV 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 

I HAPPENED to visit the accident ward of the 
Charity Hospital at Norristown because a friend 
of mine who is interested in the Flower Mission 
asked me to stop there during my afternoon walk 
and give a few flowers to the sufferers. 

When I had arranged the last half-dozen of the 
roses in a vase upon the little stand by the bedside 
of one bruised and battered patient, he looked at 
me gratefully and said: 

“Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you so much! And 
would you mind, sir, stopping for a bit of talk. I’m 
so lonely and miserable?” 

I sat upon the chair by the bed and with my hand 
smoothed the counterpane, while the patient asked 
me: 

“Do I really look like a burglar, sir, do you think? ” 
I hesitated to reply, as I examined his face. It was 
nearly covered with bandages, but his nose seemed 
swollen and there were bruises about both eyes. 

“I don’t wonder you don’t like to speak your 
mind when you see me here a broken wreck, smashed 
all up and not looking a bit like myself, sir. But 
if you would see me well and strong and all fixed up 
for going to church you’d say right off that I don’t 
favor no burglar in looks.” 

I asked the unfortunate man his name. 

( 70 ) 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


71 


“Mordecai Barnes, sir, and I’m a journeyman 
plumber, sir, with a good character and don’t take 
no second place in that business with no man. How 
did I get here? What banged me all up into a shame 
and a disgrace like this? Well, I’ll tell you, sir, if 
you have the patience to listen, for it does me good 
to talk who has been used so hard and can get no 
attention from the nurses or nobody in this here 
asylum. 

“Do you understand about frictional electricity, 
sir? No? I thought not; and well had it been for 
me, for this shattered hulk that you see a-lying here, 
if I had never heard of it neither! I’ll tell you how 
it was, sir. My mate, George Watkins — and there 
ain’t no better man nowheres, if you go clear ’round 
the globe — George Watkins is one of these men 
with inquiring minds always a-hungering for knowl- 
edge, and so George off he goes week after week to 
the lectures at the Huxley Institute. You know it; 
in that yaller building over by Nonpareil Square. 
And George often he tells me about the wonderful 
things he learned there, and among others he was 
fond of explaining to me about frictional electricity. 

“It seems, sir, for you may not know it any more’n 
I knowed it ontil George explained it to me, that 
there’s three different kinds of electricity. There’s 
the kind you make with the steam engine, and the 
kind you make with acid, and the kind you make 
with friction. Well, sir, would you believe — or, let 
me say first, have you ever rubbed a black cat on the 
back in a dark room and seen the sparks fly? Of 
course, and, sir, I know it’s almost beyond belief, 


72 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


but positive, they told George Watkins, my mate, 
up at the Huxley Institute that them sparks and the 
aurora borealis that you see sometimes a-lighting up 
the heavens is one and the same thing! Wonderful, 
isn’t it, sir, that science should discover that a black 
cat is some kind of kin to the aurora borealis? But 
George says that’s what they said, for the auiora 
borealis is caused by the earth a-rolling around and 
rubbing the air just as the sparks is caused by strok- 
ing the cat’s back and making frictional electricity. 

“ And George, he says to me that this here frictional 
electricity is the only kind that’s any use for curing 
pain. The steam-engine kind won’t do it, and the 
acid kind won’t do it, but the frictional kind’ll do 
it every time if you only know how to apply it. 

“Well, sir, now I pass to the sorrerful part of my 
story. There is a girl named Bella Dougherty that 
does housework for a man named Muffitt, and a 
mighty nice girl she is; or, I used to think her nice. 
Maybe you know where Mr. Muffitt lives, on 
Thirteenth Avenue just above Parry Street, in 
Connock, the third house on the left with white 
shutters. 

“Anyhow, I got to be fond of Bella and often used 
to set and talk with her in the evenings in Mr. Muf- 
fitt’s kitchen and maybe have two or three other 
girls come in sometimes, with a few men; though I 
never cared, sir, for much flocking together at such 
times, for Bella Dougherty, she was good enough for 
me, just her and I by ourselves. 

“Howsomedever, there was another man who had 
a kind of fancy for Bella Dougherty, although in my 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


73 


opinion he isn’t fit to wipe her feet on, and his name 
is William Jones. 

“This yer William Jones used to come intruding 
around there in Mr. Muffitt’s kitchen when he wasn’t 
wanted and when he seen that me and Bella Dough- 
erty would ruther be a setting there by ourselves. 
And so, sir, one night, just to kill time till he’d quit 
and go, I begun to tell them what George Watkins 
said to me about the Huxley Institute and frictional 
electricity being a sure cure for pain. 

“And William Jones, a- winking at Bella Dougherty 
as much as to say, sir, that he’d be having the laugh 
on me, said he had a pain that minute in his head 
from neuralgia and he’d bet me a quarter no frictional 
electricity would drive it out. I know now what 
was the matter with the head of William Jones. Not 
neuralgia nor nothing of the sort, sir. It was vacuum. 
My mate, George Watkins, tells me that at the Insti- 
tute they say that vacuum always produces pain, 
and that was the only thing the matter with this 
William Jones I’m a-telling you about. 

“I never take no dare, not from no man of that 
kind, anyways, sir; so I bet him a quarter I’d cure 
him, and cure him with frictional electricity, too. 
So he set down on the chair a-laughing and a-winking 
at Bella Dougherty, who set over by the range hold- 
ing the quarters, and I begun to rub William Jones’s 
eyebrows with my two thumbs, just gently, but 
right along, just like stroking a cat; keeping it up, 
a-rubbing and a-rubbing until at last I asked him 
how he felt now, and can you imagine my supprise, 
sir, when I seen that William Jones was fast asleep! 


74 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


I was skeered at first, but in a minute I seen that I 
had hypnertized him unbeknown to myself, and there 
set William Jones ’s if he was froze stiff. 

“I wa’n’t so very sorry, sir, when I found out how 
things was a-going, although if I could have seen 
what was the consequences of this strange occurrence 
I’d ’a’ seized my hat and bid Bella Dougherty good- 
bye and started straight for home. 

“But, sir, of course, I acted like a fool, for I’d read 
in the papers how a man who hypnertizes another 
man can make him believe anything and do any- 
thing, so I thought I’d have some fun with William 
Jones and enjoy a lovely quiet evening with Bella 
Dougherty. 

“So I said to William Jones, ‘Now, William, you 
are a little school-scholar oncet again and you’ve 
missed your lesson and so you just go over there in 
that corner by the china-closet and stand with your 
face to the wall and say over and over your multipli- 
cation table till you know it right.’ And so to the 
supprise of Bella Dougherty, William Jones went 
right over in the corner, like I told him, and there 
he stood saying, ‘Six sixes is thirty-six, six sevens 
is forty- two,’ and so on, whilst I set over with Bella 
Dougherty peacefully enjoying ourselves just exactly 
’s if William Jones wasn’t anywhere’s about. 

“And so, sir, it went on until Mrs. Muffitt she 
came down and said to Bella Dougherty it was time 
to shut the house up and then I bid her good-night 
and told William to go home and go straight to bed, 
which he did, and a-saying the multiplication table 
all the way down the street. He would have said 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


75 


it all night, sir, I do believe, if I had not ordered him 
to stop and to begin saying his prayers when I passed 
him in at his front door. 

“You may believe me, sir, that I had William 
Jones on my mind all night and was a- worrying a 
little about him, too, for fear he’d never come to. 
So around I goes the first thing in the morning to his 
boarding-house and his landlady tells me he had 
been a-saying his prayers all mixed up like with the 
multiplication table ever since he came home the 
night before. She was a bit troubled about it, sir, 
as you may imagine, for William Jones was a good 
boarder and it’d ’a’ been money out of her pocket 
if he had lost his mind. 

“So then I seen William Jones and knowed at 
oncet that the hypnertizing still had hold of him. Very 
* well; I had no idea how to get him out of it, and it 
didn’t hurt him nohow, so I just commanded William 
Jones to drop the multiplication table and his prayers 
and to fix all his intellect in the regular way on plumb- 
ing; and William Jones at oncet calmed down and 
seemed his old self agin. 

“Then a wicked thought flashed into my mind. 
You know how it is yourself, sir; you are tempted 
and you are weak and you fall, and then the first thing 
you know to be sure your sin’ll find you out and 
there you are; here I am, a shattered hulk. It sud- 
denly occurred to me, sir, that if I could control 
William Jones, why not turn his affections away from 
Bella Dougherty, who might take a fancy to him, 
who knows? — women are so queer — and direct his 
thoughts towards my own Aunt Maggie, who is a 


76 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


middle-aged widder and not so bad looking, and far 
too good for sech a man as William Jones, although 
to speak the plain truth I had no objections to having 
him for an uncle by marriage. 

“ Therefore I did so, sir, and before the week was 
out I heard that William Jones was plumbing in 
the most supprising manner, plumbing here and 
plumbing there, and paying attentions vigorously, 
so to speak, to Aunt Maggie every evening. 

“In the meantime, sir, believe me, I did not lose 
time in my suit with Bella Dougherty, who seemed 
real mad at William Jones when people began to talk 
about his courting Aunt Maggie, so that in less than 
two weeks, when Bella Dougherty heard that William 
Jones and Aunt Maggie had about agreed to marry, 
I got Bella Dougherty as good as to say, although 
she never quite said it square, that she would have 
me. 

“I never knowed how it happened, sir, whether 
somebody waked William Jones up, or he just come 
to by himself, but, sir, anyhow, William Jones about 
that time dropped hypnertism and was himself agin. 
Imagine, sir, how things stood! There never was 
a man as mad as William Jones, mad with me and 
mad with Aunt Maggie, to whom he sent a cruel 
message that he wa’n’t marrying no grandmas, and 
that made Aunt Maggie mad; and then William 
Jones set down and wrote me a letter to the general 
effect that whenever he met me my course in this 
life would be short. 

“Naturally, sir, as you may believe, I kept out 
of William Jones's way, for I am a quiet man, not 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


77 


fond of quarreling, and besides William Jones is forty 
pounds heavier, sir, than I am. 

“But one night while I was a-setting in the kitchen 
at Mr. Muffitt’s, having some uplifting conversation 
with Bella Dougherty, there was a sudden knock 
on the back door, and up she jumps, pale and skeered, 
and says: ( I do believe that is William Jones. He 
said he might maybe call this evening. ’ So, of course, 
as I never hunt trouble, I raised the window-sash 
over by the kitchen table at the back and went out 
just as William Jones came in at the side door. He 
kept the door open a-watching for me, and so as I 
couldn’t get to the gate in the yard, I climbed quickly 
over the high fence into the next yard. 

“I ought to have gone right home, sir, without 
stopping, but I hated to leave William Jones there 
with Bella Dougherty, and me just driven out; so, 
as it was raining hard and I had on my Sunday suit, 
what does I do but try the latch on the kitchen door 
of the house next door to Mr. Mufhtt’s and, finding 
the door opened, in I walked and set down in a chair 
to await what was a-going to happen. That was a 
bad job for me, sir. It isn’t safe to take one false 
step. 

“For the next minute the inside door from the 
dining-room springs open and a man jumps out and 
grabs me and says, H’ve got thee at last, have I?’ 
He was a Quaker, sir; a big man and with a grip 
like iron. I never knowed a man with a grip like 
that. Did you ever, sir, have your fingers in the 
crack of a door and somebody a-leaning hard on 
the door? That was the way this Quaker held me. 


78 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


Then he calls out, ‘Amelia! Amelia!’ and in a min- 
ute a sweet old Quaker lady comes out with a candle, 
and he says to her, I’ve caught that burglar, Amelia; 
thee get the clothes line.’ 

“So the lady she gets the clothes line and that man 
he ties my hands and my arms behind my back, good 
and tight, and then he made me set down and he ties 
me to the chair, and at last he give the rope two or 
three turns around the leg of the kitchen table and 
says to me, ‘Friend, thee can just set there while 
I go to get an officer. ’ Gave me no chance to explain ! 
Took it all for granted; whereas if he would a-listened 
to me I could have cleared up the whole mystery in 
two minutes. 

“So then, sir, out he goes for a policeman, and the 
old lady sets down in a chair not far from me and 
said she was sorry I was so wicked and asked me 
about my mother, and if I ever went to First-Day 
School, and a whole lot of things. Then a thought 
seemed to strike her and she went into the next room 
and came back with a book in her hand, and she 
said she would read a good book to me while we 
waited for justice to take its course. 

“She was lovely to look at, sir, with her tidy brown 
frock and the crepe handkerchief folded acrost her 
bosom, and her cap, and the smile on her face. A 
swfeet face, sir; an angel face; yes, sir; but sweet 
faces often has cruel dispositions behind them. For 
then she told me that the book was called Barclay’s 
Apology for the people called Quakers, or something 
like that, and she begun to read it to me. 

“Have you ever read that book, sir? It is dedi- 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


79 


cated, I think, to Charles the Second, and it begins 
with Fifteen Propositions and she read every one 
of them propositions from first to last. Then she 
turned to the section, sir, about Salutations and 
Recreations, and she read and read and read until, 
sir, actually it made my head swim. 

“Do you know, sir, is Barclay still alive — the 
man who wrote that book? Is there no way of ever 
getting even with him? 

“I couldn’t get away. I might have walked out 
somehow with the chair fastened to me, but I couldn’t 
go, could I, sir? with the table tied to my leg, and 
particularly if I had to climb the fence? So I had 
to set there and be regarded as a burglar. 

“But at last I would be heard, and I told her I was 
no burglar, but an innercent man; and then she 
looked in the index to find if Barclay had anything 
interesting to say about the wickedness of telling 
falsehoods. And then I said I was a member of the 
Baptist Society and she said at once she would read 
Barclay on the errors of that sect, but I insisted on 
being heard and I explained to her that I got into 
this trouble by trying to cure William Jones by fric- 
tional electricity, and she said, ‘Thee has an ingenious 
and fruitful mind to invent such a story. Oh, that it 
had been turned to better devices than following a 
life of evil. ’ 

“ ‘And it seems hard, too,’ I said ‘that a per- 
fectly respectable Baptist plumber should be arrested 
as a burglar simply because he tried to relieve the 
pain of William Jones by a scientific method invented 
by the Huxley Institute.’ 


80 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


“ ‘Where is thy friend, William Jones? ’ she asked. 

“Do you know, sir, at that very moment you could 
hear through the partition, William Jones and Bella 
Dougherty laughing next door? It seemed like 
mockery to me, a-setting there in chains, so to speak. 

“ ‘He is next door, ma’m,’ I said, ‘a-courting the 
hired girl.’ 

“ ‘I will prove if thee is telling the truth,’ she 
said, and she got up and moved towards the door. 

“ ‘No, ma’m, no,’ I said. ‘Please don’t do that. 
William mustn’t know that I am here. ’ And so she 
came back and set down again and picked up Bar- 
clay, and looked sorrerful at me and said: 

“ ‘It is wicked for thee to have such vain imagina- 
tions. Why does thee persist in pretending that 
there is a William Jones?’ And then she started to 
look through Barclay to find if he had anything that 
would fit the William Jones part of the case. 

“What could I do? I daresn’t call in William 
Jones to prove my innercence; he was mad all over 
at me and a bigger man too, and here I was tied; 
and I couldn’t call Bella Dougherty without William 
Jones knowing it. It was hard, sir, for a man as 
innercent as a little babe to set there with that sweet 
and smooth old lady considering him a shameless 
story-teller and firing Barclay at him, now wasn’t 
it, sir? Would you have called William Jones, sir, 
under them there circumstances, and his laughter 
and Bella Dougherty’s still a-resounding through 
the partition? 

“Well, sir, that policeman was a long time a-coming 
with the old Quaker. I never knowed why, but Friend 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


81 


Amelia she set down agin and turned over the leaves 
of Barclay and begun oncet more to read about Sal- 
utations and Recreations while, strange as it may 
seem to you, sir, I felt that I’d ruther see the police- 
man and be locked up in the dungeon than to hear 
more of it. 

“But, howsomdever, after a while in comes the 
Quaker and the officer with him and the very first 
minute the officer seen me he says, ‘I reckernize him 
as an old offender.’ ‘No, you don’t,’ says I, ‘I’m 
no old offender nor a young offender. I’m a per- 
feckly honest Baptist plumber and I kin prove it, 
too.’ ‘How kin you prove it? ’ says the officer. ‘By 
William Jones,’ says I, ‘who is a-setting in that 
kitchen right next door a-wooing the hired girl.’ 

“I was bold about it, sir, because I knowed William 
Jones daresn’t strike at me while the officer was 
there. 

“ ‘We’ll see about that,’ says the officer, and in 
he goes to Mr. Muffitt’s yard next door and comes 
back with William Jones. I have no use for a man 
like William Jones. What do you think he does, sir? 
Why he looks me over from head to foot in a blank 
sort of a way and then, turning to the policeman, 
he says, ‘I don’t know the man, officer; never seen 
him before;’ then that low-down plumber walks 
out and leaves me there and goes back and in a min- 
ute I hear him and Bella Dougherty a-laughing worse 
than ever. 

“ ‘I thought not,’ says the officer, slipping the 
handcuffs on me. ‘And so now you come right along.’ 
And Friend Amelia looked mournful at me and says 


6 


82 


FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


to me she would come around and read Barclay 
regular to me in my cell after I was convicted. 

“And so, sir, to make a long story short, I was 
took up before the magistrate and held for burglary 
and my mate, George Watkins, that owns his own 
house, went my bail and so I was let go. 

“I might stop here, sir, but I must tell you that the 
follering Thursday I met William Jones up a kind 
of blind alley where I was working, while he was 
working in a house on the opposite side. He had me 
in a comer where there was no chance to run, so I 
put on a bold face and went right up to him and says 
I, ‘William, there’s been some difference betwixt us, 
but I’m not the man to bear grudges and I forgive 
you.’ ‘What’s that?’ says he, savage. ‘Why,’ says 
I, ‘the whole thing is just one of them unpleasant 
misunderstandings,’ and then I started to explain to 
him about the Huxley Institute theory of frictional 
electricity and the aurora borealis. I can’t tell you 
what he said, sir, in reply, with reference to the aurora 
borealis, because I’m a decent man and never use 
no low language; but suddenly he jumped on me, 
and the first thing I knowed I was being lifted in the 
ambulance and fetched to this yer hospital. Was 
it right, sir, do you think, for William Jones to strike 
me foul like that while I was trying to state my case 
to him? No, sir. But that’s not the worst of it. 
Last Tuesday word came to me that Bella Dougherty 
had throwed me over and is going to marry William 
Jones on Decoration Day! Think of that, sir!” 
and Mordecai Bames turned his head upon his pillow 
and moaned. 














































Is That You. Mordecai Barnes? 





FRICTIONAL ELECTRICITY 


83 


Turning again towards me, he was about to resume 
his statement when suddenly he exclaimed, “Why, 
there’s Aunt Maggie!” 

A woman of fifty years, nicely clad, came to the 
bedside and said to him coldly: 

“Is that you, Mordecai Barnes?” 

“Yes, Aunt Maggie.” 

“I’m ashamed of you, Mordecai Barnes,” said she, 
“ashamed of you. It served you right. You got 
just what was a-comin’ to you. I wish William had 
banged you worse.” 

“And more than that,” continued Aunt Maggie, 
glaring at him through her spectacles, “I’ve tom 
up my old will which named you my sole heir and 
made a new one and left all my property to this yer 
very hospital.” 

With these words Aunt Maggie walked away and 
left the room. 

Mordecai Bames could not speak for a few mo- 
ments. He looked as if death would be welcome. 
Then, pulling the bedclothes up under his chin and 
closing his eyes wearily, he said: 

“Curse the day, say I, when George Watkins 
first went to the Huxley Institute and heard about 
frictional electricity ! ’ ’ 


V 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 

I DROVE out from Connock on the Radnor Road 
one morning with the rural mail-carrier and 
presently we came to the crossing by the Gulf 
Church, where the highway from Merion sweeps 
downward towards the great gap in the hills and 
runs out towards Valley Forge. 

At the turn of the road by the church-corner the 
bank on which the structure stands thrusts out from 
the tower so that on the way up from Connock you 
see the mound and the sentinel-tree upon it almost 
before you perceive the church. 

As we turned to the right, around this little head- 
land jutted upon the highway, the carrier, Thomas 
Brant, a devout, serious man, and not, one would 
think, likely to indulge in freaks of imagination, 
waved the back of his hand at the mound and said: 

“I saw a great sight there once; a great sight. 
You don’t believe that the other world laps over into 
this one, do you? Laps over! Why it is here; right 
here! When you put out your hand you touch it. 
The folks that I flock with would laugh at me if I 
told them that. But they have no doubts when the 
minister in this very church here reads, as I have 
heard him do many a time, about Elisha at Dothan. 
You remember that Elisha prayed that the eyes of 
his servant might be opened, and lo! the mountains 
( 84 ) 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


85 


around and about were full of the armies of the Lord ! 
Now, tell me, if that is the truth, why may not the 
Lord give his servants a vision of the hidden hosts in 
our time? They have not disbanded, have they, do 
you think? 

“And where might the Lord open a man’s eyes to 
see such a sight if not among these hills, and along this 
very road, where his people with bleeding feet in the 
far-off time marched to the Forge and to sacrifice 
and death? 

“ Well, sir, if you will believe me, something like that 
once happened to me and if you have patience to 
listen I will tell you of an experience I never dared 
to speak of to the dull-minded people whom I meet 
with in Connock. 

“I belong to a family of fighters, peace man as I 
am. They were warriors — the Brants; gentle and 
quiet and good-natured men, too. But fighters 
when the cause was just. It was in the blood of 
them. I have heard my father — that was Jasper 
Brant, the color sergeant, wounded at Cold Harbor — 
say that the sight of the flag fluttering in the wind 
made him thrill and tingle to his finger-ends. 

“His father and his own son Alan, my youngest 
brother, were soldiers in the field. Owen, that is my 
grandfather, was a corporal in Wayne’s brigade in 
the Revolution when he was sixteen. He died in 
1840. My father, Jasper, was color sergeant in the 
Civil War at forty-five, and Alan, hardly more than 
a boy, would go to the Spanish War and he perished 
on the field at San Juan, July, 1898. 

“Father carried an open wound in his ankle that 


86 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


lamed him for nigh on to forty years. He was proud 
of his father’s record and prouder of his son, Second 
Sergeant Alan, though he mourned bitterly for him. 
As the time went on and he knew the call for him 
could not be far off, it seemed to me he got to longing 
for death so that he might again see the Second Ser- 
geant and the Corporal, his father. 

“The other world and the folks that are there, 
are never much out of the mind of a good man, do 
you think, who lives to be old and suffers as the 
Color Sergeant did? 

“Well, at any rate, one night, the night of May 
29th, the evening just before father’s Grand Army 
Post would celebrate Memorial Day, he and I — all 
that were left of our family — were alone in the front 
room in our little house in Connock. 

“Father sat silent, and long had sat that day in the 
big chair over by the window. He had been sort of 
dreamy all along through the day, and I lay over 
opposite the door on the long settee, waiting till he 
should be ready to turn in. 

“It must have been much on past eleven, and the 
town was so quiet you would have thought it a city of 
the dead. Actually there was not a sound but a 
crackle now and then from the spent fire over in the 
chimney place, the loud ticking of the clock on the 
shelf and occasionally the rush and roar of the trains 
in the valley down by the river’s edge. 

“I dozed off, I guess a dozen times, and then, 
waking, looked at the Color Sergeant to see if he were 
asleep; but I never saw him wider awake. He seemed 
to be waiting and looking for somebody; which was 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


87 


queer enough, I thought, considering that the whole 
town was abed. 

“But while I looked towards him, in through the 
door from the deserted street walked Second Sergeant 
Alan, my brother of whom I told you, dead on San 
Juan Hill, and whom I had never seen since the day 
he went to the city joyfully to join his regiment 
soon after the ‘Maine’ was sunk in Cuban waters. 

“I saw Alan come in dressed in khaki, with his 
hat turned back from his forehead and his face gray 
and the blood upon the front of his blouse, and as the 
Color Sergeant turned on his chair to look at him 
Sergeant Alan stood straight up before him and said: 

“ ‘You are one of us.’ 

“I heard those words as you hear mine now, and it 
was Alan’s voice, only softer, somehow, than it used 
to be. And the Color Sergeant answered: 

“ ‘When will it come?’ 

“ ‘It will come tomorrow/ said Alan. 

“ ‘I heard a call for tonight,’ the Color Sergeant 
said again, and his voice fell a little, as if he were 
grieved a bit. 

“ ‘Tonight,’ said Alan, ‘we meet the comrades.’ 

“That was all. Alan did not notice me, and I had 
no thought, strange as it may seem, to greet him and 
clasp his hand. What was it? Fear, do you think? 
No, I was not afraid; but Alan seemed to have some 
sacred business with the Color Sergeant, and how 
should I meddle? To father Alan’s coming was as if 
the Second Sergeant had left us yesterday. I am 
sure father all that day was expecting him. 

“So, then, Sergeant Alan turned and went out 


88 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


upon the street and the Color Sergeant with him. 
What could I do but follow them? They were my own 
people. The Color Sergeant’s limp had disappeared 
and so we moved swiftly, I can hardly tell you how, 
down through the deserted street and over the river 
bridge toward the Merion hills. It was a moist, 
sultry night, with the moonlight shining through the 
scattered white clouds and the thin mist not only 
filling all the air, but lying in tufts on the face of the 
river as you have seen it often when warm weather 
is coming. 

“So we passed the bridge quickly and then moved 
out along that Radnor road over the two miles which 
seemed but a few rods until among the trees the 
Gulf Church loomed up to the right of us, and there, 
on that mound in front of the tower, right beneath 
the tree on the high corner, stood the figure of a sol- 
dier. 

“He wore, I noticed, a cocked hat and the white 
straps were crossed upon back and breast and with 
his musket, topped by a bayonet, he stood at parade 
rest. 

“ ‘The picket is out by the church, there/ said the 
Color Sergeant, my father, to Alan. 

“ ‘It is Corporal Owen Brant, of Wayne’s brigade,’ 
answers Alan. ‘He waits for the General.’ Corporal 
Owen! That was grandfather, dead these fifty years! 

“ ‘The Corporal was always true/ said the Color 
Sergeant. ‘I follow with him.’ 

“ ‘Halt!’ said Sergeant Alan, and the three of us 
stopped and drew off to the left, to the side of the 
road, and stood by the other comer, where the high- 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


89 


way comes in from Merion, and where we could look 
straight off towards Radnor and St. Davids. 

“But Corporal Owen, on the mound beneath the 
tree, made no sign nor seemed to see or hear us, but 
stood stiffly while he faced, as we did, down the road. 

“It was a queer night, with the half-light of the 
moon shining through the mist and making the ob- 
jects which would have been plain enough in the 
clear moonlight indistinct and unreal, You know 
the white tombstones in the churchyard, high above 
the road that runs from the comer down to the gap? 
I have passed them a thousand times in the daylight. 
But that night, somehow, they looked to me, in an 
odd way, something like the figures of spectral sol- 
diers standing there in line and waiting, as Corporal 
Owen was at the comer, to meet somebody. 

“Before long, far down the road in front of us, 
indistinct in the mist, came something, we could hardly 
for a while determine what. But presently we saw 
the figure of the General, with his cocked hat and 
the sharp nose and the shining eyes. And, as he 
rode along, close behind him marched a dozen gray 
shadows of men from the ground of old St. Davids, 
with muskets and trappings and the soldier-things. 

“Corporal Owen, on the mound by the church 
tower, presented arms, and as the General, saluting, 
turned the comer towards the gap and the Forge, 
Corporal Owen glided in behind him. 

“Then, wonderful sight! down from among the 
gravestones on the bank beyond the church flocked 
two score and more of other men, and in they came 
from the Merion road above and from the road over 
which we had come from Connock. 


90 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


“Some wore cocked hats, and they were the Con- 
tinentals, and among them were the two of Lafay- 
ette’s men slain by the river-crossing at Matson’s 
Ford. Some wore flat-topped caps, and father said 
they were men from the Mexican war, laid long ago 
in the ground at Merion Square. Still others were 
Civil War men, some of whom I knew and had seen 
carried to their rest behind the Gulf Church. 

“The General led them all with a proud, calm 
look on his face, a look of joy and exultation. Do 
you believe he was mad — that man Wayne? No, he 
was a true soldier, Grandfather Owen, the Corporal, 
always said, and no rattle-brain. The enemy hated 
him. 

“He loved St. Davids and the peace of that sweet 
glen, deep in the forest by the rippling stream; but 
no power could hold him when the comrades rallied 
at the Forge. 

“ So they trooped in, a great host, I thought, from 
St. Davids and Merion and the Gulf and Barren Hill 
and Matson’s Ford, and as they fell in line 

“ ‘What is the watchword tonight?’ said Sergeant 
Alan. 

“ ‘Paoli,’ answered Corporal Owen. 

“ ‘I make it San Juan,’ said Sergeant Alan, and the 
Color Sergeant would have it Chancellorsville. 

“ * Chapultepec,’ said a comrade in the flat cap. 

“ ‘Silence!’ said Corporal Owen. ‘The General has 
made it Paoli.’ The commander had given him the 
word. 

“Then the General moved down the sharp decline 
of the road toward the gloom of the gap where the 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


91 


moonlight made the shadows darker, and so out and 
up over the Gulf road the troop pressed forward, I 
following and keeping close, somehow, to the Brants — 
to the Color Sergeant and the Corporal and to Alan, 
though they seemed not to notice me at all. 

“As we skirted the forest, lying black along the 
white road, I could see the gleam of the river away 
to the right, and far off below us and in front through 
the humid air the shining lights in the streets of the 
country town. 

“They say that time and space are unknown in 
that other world. I can believe it, for I am sure I 
could not tell how it was we came so swiftly to the 
hills around Valley Forge and found ourselves among 
the entrenchments. 

“Down the road we went — down the road among 
the shadows of the trees that lay across it, until we 
came nearly to the bridge over the creek, and there, 
by a clump of pine trees, we stopped and waited. 

“We four Brants, the living and the dead, stood 
together in silence and I with astonishment and 
perplexity. 

“Why, do you suppose, did not the Corporal and 
Sergeant Alan go off and troop with the comrades? 
Was it, I have often thought, that they wanted to 
hearten the Color Sergeant and me? Or was it that 
they would prove to us that the love of kin is stronger 
than death? I know that having them there with 
us kept me in courage. 

“Off below us in the valley by the stream there 
was a confused noise, but I could not tell if it were 
the sound of voices or only the plunging of the waters 


92 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


through the gorge. Now and then I thought I heard 
the muffled rolling of drums, but it might have been 
the low rumbling of the thunder beyond the hills 
that rim the valley. 

“ Across the road from us the ground was lifted a 
little way and in the dim light there seemed to be 
figures gathering by the trees that grouped them- 
selves there. I could make out nothing plainly for 
the mist that covered the grass and crept around the 
trunks of the trees; but Corporal Owen, not moving 
his head or seeming to speak to one of us, said : 

“ ‘It is the Commander-in-Chief and the Marquis 
and the staff.' 

“ I looked closer then, and tried to catch the out- 
lines of the figures, for what would I not have given 
to see the face of that great soldier the Corporal said 
was standing there! 

“But, while I strained my eyes, the voices below 
us were hushed as the drum sounds quickened and, 
in a minute, up the road came the General I had seen 
coming fron St. Davids, and behind him streamed 
an army of men. 

“They filed before the Commander, rank on rank, 
a multitude beyond counting, in great array, with 
all the accoutrements of the soldier, and, as they 
swept forward, a man on the right of the file thrust 
upward his sword, saluting the Commander and 
crying (I can hear that voice yet) : 

“ ‘ 0 death, where is thy sting? ' 

“ ‘Henry Joyce!' said Corporal Owen, my grand- 
father, standing by my side. ‘He died at Paoli.' 

“And then another warrior, with sword uplifted, 
cried out, ‘Death is swallowed up in victory.' 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


93 


“ ‘Hah!’ exclaimed the Color Sergeant, my father, 
‘Anthony Shard! I missed you, Anthony, at Fred- 
ericksburg/ 

“Then, still another, after a moment’s silence, 
his sword brandished high above him, exclaimed, 
‘All I had I gave,’ and the Corporal, recognizing him, 
muttered, ‘Donald Golden; shot at Molino del Rey.’ 
‘Not for glory, but for right!’ another said, and an- 
other, ‘I counted not my life dear unto me,’ and the 
Color Sergeant knew them both. ‘Amos Turle,’ 
he said, ‘dead at Gettysburg; and Thomas Archer, 
he dropped in the firing-line beside me at South Moun- 
tain.’ 

“As the files went by a soldier in a cocked hat 
made the salute, shouting, ‘We hunger no more, 
neither thirst any more,’ and the Corporal said to 
him, ‘Right! Joseph Furlong; I remember how you 
suffered here at the Forge.’ 

“ ‘Sharp pain, sweet peace!’ came from another 
man’s lips, and from another, ‘O dear land I died for!’ 
And so from Stony Point and Churubusco and Bran- 
dywine and Germantown and Kenesaw Mountain 
and a score of other battlefields, the messages came, 
one after another. The Corporal and Color Sergeant 
knew every man, and hailed them all, whilst Alan 
and I stood silent and amazement filled my soul. 

“I cannot reckon how long it took for that vast 
army to march by us, but to me it seemed that hours 
must have passed. And then the mist rolled in thicker 
and thicker, covering the bank where the Commander 
stood and piling up like a snow drift along and across 
the road. 


94 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


“ While I looked and looked and wondered, I heard 
the wind coming with a rush through the forest. 

“Do you remember how it tells in First Chronicles 
that, when David would go out to war, the Lord said 
to him, Tt shall be when thou shalt hear a sound of 
going in the tops of the mulberry trees that then thou 
shalt go out to battle, for God is gone forth before 
thee?’ Do you remember that? Well, I heard that 
very sound, as if the breath of heaven rustled the tops 
of the chestnut trees there, at the Forge, and swayed 
them to and fro while the great army of the Lord went 
on its wonderful way, and He, I truly believe, went 
forth before them. 

“And as I looked upward while the trees bent 
before the wind, behold the breeze fell upon the road 
and swept the mist away, and all were gone — the 
Commander, the marching troops, the Corporal, 
Second Sergeant Alan and my father, the Color 
Sergeant. Gone! and I stood alone below the pine 
trees with no creature near to me. 

“I should have trouble to tell you just how I got 
home again. As I turned towards the river there 
was a faint glimmer of the morning far off in the east, 
along the horizon. I went that way and I know I 
crept homeward by the edge of the stream in the wet 
grass, and with the light tufts of fog still clinging 
to the water. 

“The water was white and still, as you may see it 
any time in the very early morning, and there was, 
I remember, a strange quietness, as though all the 
world were still asleep. 

“I do not remember clearly, for my mind was in 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


95 


strange confusion, but I know I stumbled along, 
and here was a chimney by the river-brink sending 
up a thin column of smoke, and there a flock of birds 
darted noiselessly over the surface of the river, and 
I heard the roar of a blast furnace and the rattle of a 
train, and so, somehow, without clear knowledge of 
my movements, I found myself on the settee in our 
front room and saw the Color Sergeant sitting by the 
window, in the big chair, just as he had been in the 
late evening. 

“I did not understand it then, nor do I understand 
it now. Nor could I speak with the Color Sergeant 
about it. For when the familiar things of home had 
permitted me to get my mental balance once again, 
the Color Sergeant seemed not to hear my voice as 
I tried to talk with him. 

“That was the morning of Memorial Day, and 
father well knew it. He would take no food, but he 
sat there with the face of a man who belonged to 
another world. 

“He seemed to think Alan was with him, for every 
now and then he would speak as though he were 
answering some one: Tt was for our country, Ser- 
geant/ he said. ‘The Brants were always true’; or 
he would say, ‘You were kind to come for me, Ser- 
geant. The Brants always stood by one another.’ 
Once he said, ‘The color shall be my shroud, my son, 
and I want no other/ and, as if in response to a ques- 
tion: ‘Yes, I am ready/ and all through the early 
morning he repeated, ‘Best of all is sacrifice/ and 
‘God shall wipe away all tears.’ 

“When the time came for the Post to march over 


96 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


to the graveyard behind the Gulf Church to hold 
the service I thought him not fit to go, after such 
a night; and I urged him to stay; but he would have 
the color brought to him from the armory, and grip- 
ping the staff, he said: 

“ ‘ Sergeant Alan will be there, and the Corporal, 
and I must help to fire the volley today, before I go 
over. Unfurl the color for them and for the General.’ 

“And so he loosed and flung free the flag with its 
tatters and its battle-names in dingy gilt, and took 
his place in the line. I carried his musket for him 
as we moved down the street and then up the road 
towards the church. 

“The services among the gravestones were soon 
ended, and the Color Sergeant took his musket and 
went over with the squad that would fire the volley, 
while a comrade stood behind him with the flag. 

“I was anxious for him, so old and lame and weak, 
and I put myself as near to him as I could. 

“It was curious for us in our time to see them load 
their guns. The Color Sergeant and the rest put the 
butt of the musket against the left foot and began 
to load in nine motions, after the old fashion of the 
Civil War. 

“At the first volley the report, reverberating among 
the hills that cooped us in there, came back sharply 
as a double echo. When the Color Sergeant heard 
the response and the echo of the bugle as it rang out 
after the shot, he lifted his head, his face flushed, 
and there was a gleam in his faded blue eyes. 

“He turned his cap with the visor to the side as 
he often told me he had done at Chancellorsville. Once 


THE RALLY AT THE FORGE 


97 


more he rammed home the cartridge in his musket, 
but with a kind of fierceness in his manner and in his 
countenance. 

‘ ‘ Again the echoes came back from the hills and 
even to me it seemed almost as if an answering volley 
had been fired by soldiers near at hand. 

“Some said they heard, rolling through the defile 
of the gap, far off to the right of the cemetery, what 
might have been the half-smothered rattle of a volley 
from the Forge; but I heard it not. 

“The echoing reports from the hills and the bugle- 
blast seemed to make the blood of the Color Sergeant 
hot. He looked as if he had suddenly grown taller. 

“With haste, but carefully observing the rule 
which required nine motions, he reloaded. 

“ ‘Fire!’ he exclaimed, and then, as from the encir- 
cling hills came the wonderful multiplied reverbera- 
tions, the wind flapped the color towards him. He 
leaped at it, and seizing the staff with both hands, he 
waved it while he shouted, ‘Forward! Forward!’ 

“Then he made as if he would have rushed onward. 
But the strong breeze blew the flag in his face, and 
clear round his body, and the foot of the staff caught 
upon the little mound above a grave and threw him 
down. 

“He fell forward and lay still. He must have 
struck his head, I think, upon the gravestone, for when 
the comrades sprang to lift him, he was quite dead. 

“He was wrapped in the ragged color as in a wind- 
ing sheet, and around him from head to foot in letters 
of tarnished gold were the names of Gettysburg and 
Antietam and Chancellorsville.” 


7 


VI 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND* 

THE ISLAND 

W HEN the good ship “ Morning Star,” bound 
to Liverpool from New York, foundered 
at sea, the officers, the crew, and all of 
the passengers but two, escaped in the boats. Pro- 
fessor E. L. Baffin and his daughter, Matilda Baffin, 
preferred to intrust themselves to a patent india- 
rubber life-raft, which the Professor was carrying 
with him to Europe, with the hope that he should 
sell certain patent rights in the contrivance. 

There was time enough, before the ship sank, to 
inflate the raft and to place upon it all the trunks 
and bundles belonging to the Professor and Matilda. 
These were lashed firmly to the rubber cylinders, 
and thus Professor Baffin was encouraged to believe 
that he might save from destruction all of the scien- 
tific implements and apparatus which he had brought 
with him from the Balligomingo University, near 
Connock, Pa., to illustrate the course of lectures 
which he had engaged to give in England and Scot- 
land. 

Having made the luggage fast, the Professor handed 
Matilda down from the ship’s side, and when he had 

♦It is necessary to say that this tale was first published in 1881 and 
antedates a story with a similar theme by a noted author. 

( 98 ) 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


99 


tied her to one of the trunks and secured himself to 
another, he cut the raft adrift, and, with the oc- 
cupants of the boats, sorrowfully watched the brave 
old “ Morning Star” settle down deeper and deeper 
into the water; until at last, with a final plunge, 
she dipped beneath the surface and disappeared. 

The prospect was a cheerless one for all of the 
party. The sea was not dangerously rough; but 
the captain estimated that the nearest land was at 
least eight hundred miles distant; and, although 
there were in the boats and upon the raft provisions 
and water enough for several days, the chance was 
small that a port could be made before the supplies 
should be exhausted. There was, moreover, almost 
a certainty that the boats would be swamped if 
they should encounter a severe storm. 

The Professor, for his part, felt confident that the 
raft would outlive any storm; but his shipmates 
regarded his confidence in it as an indication of 
partial insanity. 

The captain rested his expectations of getting 
ashore chiefly upon the fact that they were in the 
line of greatest travel across the Atlantic, so that 
they might reasonably look to meet, within a day 
or two, with a vessel of some kind which would 
rescue them. 

As the night came on, it was agreed that the boats 
and the raft should keep together, and the captain 
had provided a lantern, which was swung, lighted, 
aloft upon an oar, so that the position of his boat 
could be determined. The Professor, with his raft 
under sail, steered along in the wake of the boats 


100 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


for several hours, Matilda, meanwhile, sleeping 
calmly, after the exciting and exhausting labors of 
the day, upon a couple of trunks. 

As the night wore on, a brisk wind sprang up, 
and shortly afterward the light upon the captain's 
boat for some reason disappeared. The Professor 
was somewhat perplexed when he missed it, but he 
concluded that the safest plan would be to steer 
about upon the course he had hitherto held, and 
then to communicate with the boats if they should 
be within sight in the morning. 

The wind increased in force about midnight, and 
the raft rolled and pitched in such a manner that 
the Professor’s faith in it really lost some of its force. 
Several times huge waves swept over it, drenching 
the Professor and his daughter, and filling them with 
grave apprehensions of the result if the storm should 
become more violent. 

Even amid the peril, however, Professor Baffin 
could not but admire the heroic courage and com- 
posure of Matilda, who sat upon her trunk, wet 
and shivering with cold, without showing a sign of 
fear, but trying to encourage her father with words 
of hope and cheer. 

When the dawn came, dim and gray, the gale 
abated its force, and although the sea continued 
rough, the raft rode the waves more buoyantly and 
easily. Producing some matches from his water- 
proof box, the Professor lighted the kerosene lamp 
in the tiny stove which was in one of the boxes; 
and then Matilda, with water from the barrel, began 
to try to make some coffee. The attempt seemed 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


101 


to promise to be successful, and while the process 
was going on, the Professor looked about for the 
boats. They could not be seen. The Professor 
took out his glass and swept the horizon. In vain; 
the boats had disappeared completely; but the 
Professor saw something else that attracted his 
attention, and made his heart for a moment stop 
beating. 

Right ahead, not distinctly outlined, but visible 
in a misty sort of way, he' thought he discerned 
land! 

At first he could not believe the evidence of his 
sight. The captain, an expert navigator, had as- 
sured him that they were eight hundred miles from 
any shore. But this certainly looked to the Pro- 
fessor very much like land. He examined it through 
his glass. Even then the view was not clear enough 
to remove all doubts, but it strengthened his con- 
viction; and when Matilda looked she said she knew 
it was land. She could trace the outline of a range 
of hills. 

“ Tilly/’ said the Professor, “we are saved! It is 
the land, and the raft is drifting us directly towards 
it. We cannot be sufficiently thankful, my child, 
for this great mercy! Who would have expected it? 
Taken altogether, it is the most extraordinary cir- 
cumstance within my recollection.” 

“Captain Duffer must have made a miscalcula- 
tion,’ ’ said Tilly. “The ship must have been off 
of her course when she sprang a leak.” 

“It is incomprehensible how so old a sailor could 
have made such a blunder,” replied the Professor. 


102 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“But there the land is; I can see it now distinctly. 
It looks to me like a very large island.” 

“Are you going ashore at once, pa?” 

“Certainly, dear; that is, if we can make a land- 
ing through the breakers.” 

“Suppose there are cannibals on it, pa? It would 
be horrid to have them eat us!” 

“They would have to fatten us first, darling; and 
that would give us an opportunity to study their 
habits. It would be extremely interesting!” 

“But the study would be of no use if they should 
eat us!” 

“All knowledge is useful, Tilly; I could write out 
the results of our observations, and probably set 
them adrift in a bottle!” 

“It is such a dreadful death!” 

“Try to look at it philosophically! There is really 
nothing more unpleasant about the idea of being 
digested than there is about the thought of being 
buried.” 

“Oh, pa!” 

“No, my child! It is merely a sentiment. If I 
shall be eaten, and we have volition after death, I 
am determined to know how I agreed with the man 
who had me for dinner! Tilly, I have a notion that 
you would eat tender!” 

“Pa, you are simply awful!” 

“To me, indeed, there is something inspiring in 
the thought that my physical substance, when I 
have done with it, should nourish the vitality of 
another being. I don’t like to think that I may be 
wasted.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


103 


“You seem as if you rather hoped we should find 
savage cannibals upon the island!” 

“No, Tilly; I hope we shall not. I believe we 
shall not. Man-eaters are rarely found in this lati- 
tude. My impression is that the island is not in- 
habited at all. Probably it is of recent volcanic 
origin. If so, we may have a chance to examine a 
newly-formed crater. I have longed to do so for 
years.” 

“We might as well be eaten as to be blown up 
and burned up by a volcano,” said Matilda. 

“It would be a grand thing, though, to be per- 
mitted to observe, without interruption, the opera- 
tion of one of the mightiest forces of nature! I could 
make a magnificent report to the Philosophical So- 
ciety about it; that is, if we should ever get home 
again.” 

“For my part,” said Matilda, “I hope it contains 
neither cannibals nor volcanoes; I hope it is simply 
a charming island without a man or a beast upon it.” 

“Something like Robinson Crusoe’s, for example! 
I have often thought I should like to undergo his 
experiences. It must be, to an inquiring mind, 
exceedingly instructive to observe in what manner 
a civilized man, thrown absolutely upon his own 
resources, contrives to conduct his existence. I 
could probably enrich my lecture upon Sociology if 
we should be compelled to remain upon the island 
for a year or two.” 

“But we should starve to death in that time!” 

“So we should; unless, indeed, the island produces 
fruits of some kind from its soil. I think it does. 
It seems to be covered with trees, Tilly, doesn’t it?” 


104 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“Yes,” said Matilda, looking through the glass. 
“It is a mass of verdure. It is perfectly beautiful. 
I believe I see something that looks like a build- 
ing, too.” 

“Impossible! you see a peculiar rock formation, 
no doubt; I sha’n’t be surprised if there is enough 
in the geological formation of the island to engage 
my attention so long as we remain.” 

“But what am I to do, meantime?” 

“You? Oh, you can label my specimens and keep 
the journal; and maybe you might hunt around for 
fossils a little yourself.” 

The raft rapidly moved toward the shore, and the 
eyes of both of the voyagers were turned toward it 
inquiringly and eagerly. Who could tell how long 
the island might be their home, and what strange 
adventures might befall them there? 

“The wind is blowing right on shore, Tilly,” said 
the Professor. “I will steer straight ahead, and I 
shouldn’t wonder if we could shoot the breakers 
safely. Isn’t that a sand-beach right in front there?” 
inquired the Professor, elevating his nose a little, 
to get his spectacles in focus. “It looks like one.” 

“Yes, it is,” replied Matilda, looking through her 
glass. 

“First-rate! Couldn’t have been better. There, 
we will drive right in. Tilly, hoist my umbrella, so 
as to give her more sail!” 

The raft fairly danced across the waves under the 
increased pressure, and in a moment or two it was 
rolling in the swell just outside of the line of white 
breakers. Before the Professor had time to think 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


105 


what he should do to avoid the shock, a huge wave 
uplifted the raft and ran it high upon the beach 
with such violence as to compel the Professor to turn 
a somersault over a trunk. He recovered himself 
at once, and replacing his spectacles he proceeded, 
with the assistance of Matilda, to pull the raft up 
beyond the reach of the waves. 

Then, wet and draggled, with sand on his coat, 
and his hat knocked completely out of shape, he 
stood rubbing his chin with his hand, and thought- 
fully observing the breakers. 

“ Extraordinary force, Tilly, that of the ocean 
surf — clear waste, too, apparently. If we stay here 
long enough, I must try to find out the secret of its 
motion.” 

“ Hadn’t we better put on some dry clothing first?” 
suggested Miss Baffin, “and examine the surf after- 
wards? For my part I have had enough of it.” 

“Certainly! Have you the keys of the trunks? 
Everything soaking wet, most likely.” 

When the trunks were unfastened, the Professor 
was delighted to find that the contents were per- 
fectly dry. Selecting some clothing for himself, he 
went behind a huge rock and proceeded to dress. 
Matilda, after looking carefully about, retreated to 
a group of trees, and beneath their shelter made her 
toilette. , 

“Isn’t this a magnificent place?” said the Pro- 
fessor, when Matilda, nicely dressed, came out to 
where he was standing by the raft. 

“Perfectly lovely.” 

“Noble trees, rich grass, millions of wild flowers, 


106 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


birds twittering above us, a matchless sky, a brac- 
ing air, and — why, halloa! there’s a stream of run- 
ning water! We must have a drink of that, the 
very first thing. Delicious, isn’t it?” asked the 
Professor, when Miss Baffin, after drinking, returned 
the cup to him. 

“It is nectar.” 

“I tell you what, Tilly, I am not sure that it 
wouldn’t be a good thing to be compelled to live 
here for two or three years. The vegetation shows 
that we are in a temperate latitude, and I know I can 
find or raise enough to eat in such a place as this.” 

“Why, pa, look there!” 

“Where?” 

* “Over there. Don’t you see that castle?” 

“Castle? No! What! Why, yes, it is! Bless 
my soul, Tilly, the place is inhabited!” 

“Who would have thought of finding a building 
like that on an island in mid-ocean?” 

“It is the most extraordinary circumstance, tak- 
ing it altogether, that ever came under my observa- 
tion,” said the Professor, looking towards the distant 
edifice. “So far as I catL make out, it is a castle 
of an early period.” 

“Mediaeval?” 

“Well, not later than the seventh or eighth cen- 
tury, at the farthest. Tilly, I feel as if something 
remarkable were going to happen.” 

“Pa, you frighten me!” 

“No, I mean something that will be extraordinarily 
interesting. I know it. The voice of instinct tells 
me so. Have you your journal with you?” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


107 


“It is in the trunk.’’ 

“Get it and your lead-pencils. We will drag the 
baggage farther up from the water, and then we 
will push towards the castle. I am going to know 
the date of that structure before I sleep tonight.” 

“There can hardly be any danger, I suppose?” 
suggested Miss Baffin, rather timidly. 

“Oh, no, of course not; I have my revolver with 
me. Let me see; where is it? Ah, here. And 
the cartridges are waterproof. I think I will put a 
few things in a valise, also. We might find the castle 
empty, and have to depend upon ourselves for supper.” 

The Professor then let the air out of the raft, and 
folded the flattened cylinders together. 

When the valise was ready, the Professor grasped 
it, shouldered his umbrella, and said, “Now, come, 
darling, and we will find out what all this means.” 

The pair started along a broad path which ran 
by the side of the stream, following the course of 
the brook, and winding in and out among trees of 
huge girth and gigantic height. Birds of familiar 
species flitted from branch to branch before them, 
as if to lead them on their way; now and then a 
brown rabbit, after eyeing them for a moment with 
quivering nostrils, beat a quick tattoo upon the 
ground with his hind legs, then threw up his tail 
and whisked into the shrubbery. Gray squirrels 
scrambled around the trunks of the trees to look 
at them, and once a screaming, blue-crested king- 
fisher ceased his complaining while he plunged into 
one of the pools of the rivulet, and emerged with 
a trout in his talons. 


108 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


It was an enchanting scene; and Miss Baffin 
enjoyed it thoroughly as she stepped blithely by the 
side of her father, who seemed to find especial pleas- 
ure in discovering that the herbage, the trees, the 
rocks, and all the other natural objects, were pre- 
cisely like those with which he had been familiar at 
home. 

After following the path for some time, the pair 
came to a place where the brook widened into a 
great pool, through which the water went sluggishly, 
bearing upon its surface bubbles and froth, which 
told how it had been tossed and broken by rapid 
descent over the rocks in some narrow channel 
above. Here the Professor stopped to observe an 
uncommonly large and green bullfrog, which sat 
upon a slimy stone a few yards away, looking 
solemnly at him. 

During the pause, they were startled to hear a 
voice saying to them: 

“Good morrow, gentle friends.” 

Matilda uttered a partly-suppressed scream, and 
even the Professor jumped backward a foot or two 
in astonishment. 

Looking toward the place from which the voice 
came, they saw an old man with gray hair and 
beard lifting a large stone pitcher, which he had 
been filling from the pool. He was dressed in a 
long and rather loose robe, which reached from his 
shoulders to his feet, and which was gathered about 
his waist with a knotted cord. This was his entire 
costume, for his feet were bare, and he wore no hat 
to hide the rich masses of hair which fell to his 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


109 


shoulders. As he offered his salutation, he raised 
his pitcher until he stood upright, and then he looked 
at the Professor and Miss Baffin with a pleasant 
smile, in which there were traces of curiosity. 

“Good afternoon,” returned the Professor, after a 
moment’s hesitation; “how are you?’’ 

“Are you not strangers in this land?” asked the 
old man. 

“Well, yes,” said the Professor, briskly, with a 
manifest purpose to be sociable; “we have just 
come ashore down here on the beach. Shipwrecked, 
in fact. This is my daughter. Let me introduce 
you. My child, allow me to make you acquainted 
with — with — beg pardon, but I think you did not 
mention your name.” 

“I am known as Father Anselm.” 

“Ah, indeed! Matilda, this is Father Anselm. 
A clergyman, I suppose?” 

“I am a hermit; my cell is close at hand. You 
will be welcome there if you will visit it.” 

“A hermit! Living in a cell! Well, this is sur- 
prising! We shall be only too happy to visit you, 
if you will permit us. Delightful, isn’t it, dear? 
We shall obtain some valuable information from the 
old gentleman.” 

The Hermit, with the pitcher poised upon his 
shoulder, led the way, and he was closely followed 
by the Professor and by Matilda, who regarded the 
proceeding rather with nervous apprehension. The 
Hermit’s cell was a huge cave, excavated from the 
side of a hill. The floor was covered with sprigs 
of fragrant evergreens. A small table stood upon 


110 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


one side of the apartment; beside it was a rough 
bench, which was the only seat in the room. A 
crucifix, a candle, a skull, an hour-glass, and a few 
simple utensils were the only other articles to be 
seen. 

The Hermit brought forward the bench for his 
visitors to sit upon, and then, procuring a cup, he 
offered each a drink of water. 

The Professor, hugging one knee with interlocked 
fingers, seemed anxious to open a conversation. 

“ Pardon me, sir, but do I understand that you 
are a clergyman; that is to say, some sort of a 
teacher of religion?’ 7 

“I belong to a religious order. I am a recluse.” 

“ Roman Catholic, I presume?” said the Professor, 
glancing at the crucifix. 

“Your meaning is not wholly clear to me,” replied 
the Hermit. 

“What are your views? Do you lean to Calvin- 
ism, or do you think the Arminians, upon the whole, 
have the best of the argument?” 

“The gentleman does not understand you, pa,” 
said Miss Baffin. 

“Never mind, then; we will not press it. But 
I should like very much if you would tell us some- 
thing about this place; this country around here,” 
said the Professor, waving his hand towards the door. 

“Let me ask first of the misadventure which cast 
you unwillingly upon our shores?” said the Hermit. 

“Well, you see, I sailed from New York on the 
twenty-third of last month, with my daughter here, 
to fulfil an engagement to deliver a course of lectures 
in England.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


111 


“In England !” exclaimed the Hermit, with an 
appearance of eager interest. 

“Yes, in England. I am a professor, you know, 
in an American university. When we were about 
half way across, the ship sprang a leak, from some 
cause now unknown. My daughter and I got off 
with our baggage upon a life-raft, which I most 
fortunately had with me. The rest of the passen- 
gers and the crew escaped in the boats. I became 
separated from them, and drifted here. That is 
the whole story.” 

“I comprehend only a part of what you say,” 
replied the Hermit. “But it is enough that you 
have suffered; I give you hearty welcome.” 

“Thank you. And now tell me where I am.” 

“You spoke of England a moment ago,” said the 
Hermit. “Let me begin with it. Hundreds of 
years ago, in the time of King Arthur, of noble fame, 
it happened, by some means even yet not revealed 
to us, that a vast portion of that island separated 
from the rest, and drifted far out upon the ocean. 
It carried with it hundreds of people — noble, and 
gentle, and humble. This is that country.” 

“In -deed!” exclaimed the Professor. “This? This 
island that we are on? Amazing!” 

“It is true,” responded the Hermit. 

“Why, Tilly, do you hear that? This is the lost 
Atlantis! We have been driven ashore on the far- 
famed Fortunate Island! Wonderful, isn’t it? Tak- 
ing everything into consideration, I must say this 
certainly is the most extraordinary circumstance I 
ever encountered!” 


112 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“ Nobody among us has ever heard anything from 
England or of it, excepting through tradition. No 
ship comes to our shores, and those of us who have 
builded boats and gone away in search of adventure 
have never come back. Sometimes I think the 
island has not ended its wanderings, but is still float- 
ing about; but we cannot tell.” 

“But, my dear sir,” said the Professor, “you can 
take your latitude and longitude at any time, can’t 
you?” 

“Take what?” 

“Your latitude and longitude! Find out exactly 
in what part of the world you are?” 

“ I never heard that such a thing was done. None 
of our people have that kind of learning.” 

“Well, but you have schools and colleges, and you 
acquire knowledge, don’t you?” 

“We have a few schools; but only the low-born 
children attend them, and they are taught only what 
their fathers learned. We do not try to know more. 
We reverence the past. It is a matter of pride 
among us to preserve the habits, the manners, the 
ideas, the social state which our forefathers had when 
they were sundered from their nation.” 

“You live here pretty much as King Arthur and 
his subjects lived?” 

“Yes. We have our chivalry; our knight errants; 
our tournaments; our castles — everything just as it 
was in the old time.” 

“My dear,” said the Professor to Miss Baffin, 
“the wildest imagination could have conceived noth- 
ing like this. We shall be afforded an opportunity 
to study the middle ages on the spot.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


113 


“Sometimes,” said the Hermit, gravely, “I have 
secret doubts whether our way is the best, whether 
in England and the rest of the world men may not 
have learned while we have remained ignorant; but 
I cannot tell. And no one would be willing to 
change if we could know the truth.” 

“My friend,” said the Professor, with a look of 
compassion, “the world has gone far, far ahead of 
King Arthur’s time! It has almost forgotten that 
there ever was such a time. You would hardly be- 
lieve me, at any rate you would not understand me, 
if I should tell you of the present state of things in 
the world. But if I stay here I shall try to enlighten 
you gradually. I feel as if I had been sent here as 
a missionary for that very purpose.” 

“Do you come from England?” 

“Oh, no! I was going thither. I came from 
the United States. You never heard of them, of 
course. They are a land right across the ocean from 
England, about three thousand miles.” 

“Discovered by a man named Columbus,” said 
Miss Baffin. 

“Your dress is an odd one,” continued the Hermit. 
“Are you a fighting man?” 

“A fighting man! Oh, no, of course not. I’m a 
Professor.” 

“Then this is not a weapon that you carry.” 

“Bless my soul, my dear sir! Why, this is an 
umbrella! Tilly, we have to deal with a very primi- 
tive condition of things here. It is both entertain- 
ing and instructive.” 

“What is it for?” 


8 


114 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“I will show you. Suppose it begins to rain, I 
untie this string and open the umbrella, so! Now, 
don’t be alarmed! It is perfectly harmless, I assure 
you!” 

The holy man had retreated suddenly into the 
farthest recess of the cell. 

“ While it rains I hold it in this manner. When 
it clears, I shut it up, thus, and put it under my 
arm.” 

“ Wonderful! wonderful!” exclaimed the Hermit. 
“ I thought it was an implement of war. The world 
beyond us evidently has surpassed us.” 

“This is nothing to the things I will show you,” 
said the Professor. “I see you have an hour-glass 
here. Is this the only way you have of recording 
time?” 

“We have the sun.” 

“No clocks or watches?” 

“I do not know what they are.” 

“Tilly, show him your watch. This is the ma- 
chine with which we tell time.” 

“Alive, is it?” asked the Hermit. 

The Professor explained the mechanism to him in 
detail. 

“You are indeed a learned man,” said the recluse. 
“But I have forgotten a part of my duty. Will 
you not take some food?” 

“Well,” said the Professor, “if you have anything 
about in the form of a lunch, I think I could dis- 
pose of it.” 

“I am awfully hungry,” said Miss Baffin. 

The Hermit produced a piece of meat, and hang- 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


115 


ing it upon a turnspit he gathered a few sticks and 
placed them beneath it. The Professor watched 
him closely; and when the holy man took in his 
hands a flint and steel with which to ignite the 
wood, the Professor exclaimed: 

“One moment! Let me start that fire for you?” 

Taking from his pocket an old newspaper, he put 
it beneath the sticks; then from his match-box he 
took a match, and striking it there was a blaze in 
a moment. 

The Hermit crossed himself and muttered a prayer 
at this performance. 

“No cause for alarm, I assure you,” said the 
Professor. 

“You must be a wizard,” said the Hermit. 

“No; I did that with what we call a match; like 
this one. There is stuff on the end which catches 
fire when you rub it,” and the Professor again ignited 
a match. 

“I never could have dreamed that such a thing 
could be,” exclaimed the recluse. “You will be 
regarded by our people as the most marvelous ma- 
gician that ever lived.” 

The Professor laughed. 

“Oh,” said he, “I will let them know it is not 
magic. We must clear all that nonsense away. 
Tilly, I feel that duty points me clearly to the task 
of delivering a course of lectures upon this island.” 

During the repast, the Hermit, looking timidly at 
Professor Baffin, said: 

“Would it seem discourteous if I should ask you 
another question?” 


116 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“ Certainly not. I shall be glad to give you any 
information you may want.” 

“What, then,” inquired the Hermit, “is the reason 
why you protect your eyes with glass windows?” 

“These,” said the Professor, removing his spec- 
tacles, “are intended to improve the sight. I cannot 
see well without them. With them I have perfect 
vision. Tilly, make a memorandum in the journal 
that my first lecture shall be upon Optics.” 

“Pa, I wish we could learn something about the 
castle we saw,” observed Miss Baffin. 

“Oh, yes; by the way, Father Anselm,” said the 
Professor, “we observed an old-fashioned castle 
over yonder, as we came here. Can you tell me 
anything about it?” 

“The castle,” replied the Hermit, “is the home 
and the stronghold of Sir Bors, Baron of Lonazep. 
He is a great and powerful noble, much feared in 
this country.” 

“Any family?” inquired the Professor. 

“He has a gallant son, Sir Dinadan, as brave a 
knight as ever levelled lance, and a beautiful daughter, 
Ysolt. Both are unmarried; but the fair Ysolt 
fondly loves Sir Bleoberis, to whom, however, the 
Baron will not suffer her to be wedded, because Sir 
Bleoberis, though bold and skilful, has little wealth.” 

“Human nature, you observe, my child, is the 
same everywhere. We have heard of something 
like this at home,” remarked the Professor to his 
daughter. 

“Ysolt is loved also by another knight, Sir Dag- 
onet. He has great riches, and is very powerful; 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


117 


but he is a bad and dangerous man, and the Baron 
will not consent to give him Ysolt to wife. These 
matters cause much strife and much unhappiness.” 

“It's the same way with us,” observed the Pro- 
fessor; “I have known lots of such cases.” 

“I hope we shall stay here long enough to see 
how it all turns out,” said Miss Baffin. 

“Of course,” replied the Professor. “You hated 
the island when you thought it might promote the 
interests of science. But some lovers’ nonsense 
would keep you here willingly for fife. Just like a 
woman.” 

“The King,” said the Hermit, “has espoused the 
cause of Sir Bleoberis, and we hope he may win the 
lady for the knight whom she loves.” 

“The King, eh? Then you have a monarchical 
government?” 

“We have eleven kings upon this island.” 

“All reigning?” 

“Yes.” 

“How many people are there in the whole island?” 

“No one knows, exactly. One hundred thousand, 
possibly.” 

“Not ten thousand men apiece for the kings! 
Humph! In my country we have a million men 
in one town, and nobody but a common man to 
rule them.” 

“Incredible!” 

“And what is the name of your particular king— 
the one who is lord of this part of the country?” 

“King Brandegore; a wise, and good, and valiant 
monarch.” 


118 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“Tilly,” said the Professor, “you might as well 
jot that down. Eleven kings on the island, and 
King Brandegore running this part of the govern- 
ment. I must get acquainted with him.” 

When the meal was finished the Professor said to 
the recluse: 

“Do you allow smoking?” 

“Smoking!” 

“Pray excuse me! I forgot. If you will permit 
me, I will introduce you to another of the practices 
of modem civilization.” 

Then the Professor lighted a cigar, and, sitting 
on the bench in a comfortable position, with his 
back against the wall of the cave, he began to puff 
out whiffs of smoke. 

The Hermit, with a look of alarm, was about to 
ask for an explanation of the performance, when 
loud cries were heard outside of the cave mingled 
with frightened exclamations from a woman. 

The occupants of the cavern started to their feet, 
just as a beautiful girl, dressed in a quaint but charm- 
ing costume, ran into the doorway in such haste that 
she dashed plump up against the Professor, who 
caught her in his arms. 

For a moment she was startled at seeing two 
strangers in a place where she had thought to en- 
counter none but the Hermit; but her dread of her 
pursuer overcame her diffidence, and, clinging to the 
Professor, she exclaimed: 

“Oh, save me! save me!” 

“Certainly I will,” said the Professor, soothingly, 
as his arm tightened its clasp about her waist. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


119 


“What’s the matter? Don’t be afraid, my child. 
Who is pursuing you?” 

The Professor was not displeased at the situation 
in which he found himself. The damsel was fair to 
see, and the head which rested, in what seemed to 
him sweet confidence, upon his shoulder, was crowned 
with golden hair of matchless beauty. Even amid 
the intense excitement of the moment the reflection 
flashed through the Professor’s mind that he was a 
widower and that Matilda had always expressed a 
willingness to try to love a stepmother. 

“My father! The Baron! He threatens to kill 
me,” sobbed the maiden, and then, tearing herself 
away from the Professor in a manner which struck 
him as being, to say the least, inconsiderate, she 
flew to Father Anselm and said, “You, holy father, 
will save me.” 

“I will try, my daughter; I will try,” replied the 
Hermit. And then, turning to the Professor he 
said, “It is Ysolt.” 

“Ah!” said the Professor, “the Baron’s daughter. 
May I ask you, miss, what the old gentleman is so 
excited about? It is not one of the customs here 
for indignant parents to chase their children around 
the country, is it?” 

“I had gone from the castle,” said the damsel, 
partly to the Hermit and partly to Professor Baffin, 
“to meet Sir Bleoberis at the trysting-place. My 
father was watching me, and as I neared the spot 
he rushed toward me with a drawn sword, threaten- 
ing to kill me.” 

“It is an outrageous shame!” exclaimed the Pro- 
fessor, sympathetically. 


120 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“I eluded him,” continued the sobbing girl, “and 
flew towards this place. When he saw me at last 
he gave chase. I am afraid he will slay me when 
he comes.” 

“I think, perhaps, I may be able to reason with 
this person when he arrives,” said the Professor, 
rubbing his chin and looking at the hermit over the 
top of his spectacles. “The Baron ought to be 
ashamed of himself to go on in this manner! Tilly, 
wipe the poor creature’s eyes with your handker- 
chief. There now, dear, cheer up.” 

Just then the Baron rushed into the cell, with 
his eyes flaming, and his breath coming short and 
fast. 

He was a large man, with a handsome face, thickly 
covered with beard. He was dressed in doublet, 
trunks and hose, and over one shoulder a mantle 
hung gracefully. His sword was in its sheath, and 
it was manifest that he had repented of his mur- 
derous purpose. 

“Where is that faithless girl?” he demanded in 
a voice of thunder. 

Ysolt had hidden behind Matilda Baffin. 

“Say, priest, where have you secreted her?” 

“One moment!” said the Professor, stepping for- 
ward. “May I, without appearing impertinent, 
offer a suggestion?” 

“Out, varlet!” exclaimed the Baron, pushing him 
aside. “Tell me, Hermit, where is Ysolt.” 

The Professor was actually pale with indignation. 
Pushing himself in front of the Baron, and bran- 
dishing his umbrella in a determined way he said: 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


121 


“Old man, I want you to understand that you 
have to deal with a free and independent American 
citizen! What do you mean by ‘varlet’? I hurl 
the opprobrious word back into your teeth, sir! I 
am not going to put up with such conduct, I’d like 
you to know!” 

The Baron for the first time perceived what man- 
ner of man the Professor was, and he paused for a 
moment amid his rage to eye the stranger with 
astonishment. 

“Why do you want to hurt the young woman? 
Is this any way for an affectionate father to behave 
to his own offspring? Allow me to say, sir, that I’ll 
be hanged if I think it is! If you don’t want her 
to marry Sir What’s-his-name, don’t let her; but it 
strikes me that charging around the country after 
her, and threatening to kill her, is an evidence that 
you don’t understand the first principles of domestic 
discipline!” 

“What do you mean? Who are you? What are 
you doing here?” demanded the Baron, fiercely, 
recovering his self-possession. 

“I am Professor E. L. Baffin, of Balligomingo 
University, Connock, Pa.; and I mean to try to per- 
suade you to treat your daughter more gently,” said 
the Professor, cooling as he remembered that the 
Baron had a father’s authority. 

“You have a weapon. I will fight you,” said the 
Baron, drawing his sword. 

The Professor put his cigar in his mouth, and 
opened his umbrella suddenly in the Baron’s face. 

The Baron retreated a distance of twenty feet and 
looked scared. 


122 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“Come,” said the Professor, closing his umbrella 
and smiling, “I am not a fighting man. We will not 
quarrel. Let us talk the matter over calmly.” 

But the Baron, mortified because of the alarm 
that he had manifested, rushed savagely at the Pro- 
fessor, and would have felled him to the earth had 
not Matilda sprung forward and placed herself, 
shrieking, between the Baron and her father. 

At this precise juncture, also, a young man entered 
the cell, and, seeing the Baron apparently about to 
strike a woman, seized his sword-arm and held it. 
The Baron turned sharply about. Recognizing the 
youth as his son, he simply looked at him angrily, 
and then, while Miss Baffin clung to the Professor, 
the Baron seized Ysolt by the arm and led her weep- 
ing away. 

The Professor, after freeing himself from Miss 
Baffin’s embrace, extended his hand to the youth, 
and said: 

“I have not the honor of knowing you, sir, but 
you have behaved handsomely. Permit me to in- 
quire your name?” 

“Sir Dinadan; the son of the Baron,” said the 
youth, taking hold of the Professor’s hand, as if he 
were somewhat uncertain what he had better do 
with it. 

“No last name?” asked the Professor. 

“That is all. And you are — ?” 

“I am Everett L. Baffin, a Professor in the Bal- 
ligomingo University. I was cast ashore down here 
with my daughter. Tilly, let me introduce to you 
Sir Dinadan.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


123 


Sir Dinadan colored, and dropping upon his knee 
he seized Miss Baffin’s hand and kissed it. Rising, 
he said: 

“What, Sir Baffin, is the name of the sweet lady?” 

“Matilda.” 

“How lovely!” exclaimed Sir Dinadan. 

“It is abbreviated sometimes to Tilly, by her 
friends.” 

“It is too beautiful,” said the youth, gazing at 
Miss Baffin with unconcealed admiration. “I trust, 
Sir Baffin, I may be able to serve in some manner 
you and the Lady Tilly.” 

“Professor Baffin, my dear sir; not Sir Baffin. 
Permit me to offer you my card.” 

Sir Dinadan took the card, and seemed perplexed 
as to its meaning. He turned it over and over in 
a despairing sort of way in his fingers. 

“If you will read it,” said the Professor, “you 
will find my name upon it.” 

“But, Sir Baffin, I cannot read.” 

“Can’t read!” exclaimed the Professor, in amaze- 
ment. “You don’t mean to say that you have never 
learned to read!” 

“High-born people,” replied Sir Dinadan, with an 
air of indifference, “care nothing for learning. We 
leave that to the monks.” 

“This,” said the Professor to Miss Baffin, “is one 
of the most extraordinary circumstances that has yet 
come under my observation. Tilly, mention in your 
journal that the members of the upper classes are 
wholly illiterate.” 

“As the Lady Tilly is a stranger here,” said Sir 


124 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Dinadan, “I should be glad to have her walk with 
me to the brow of the hill. I will show her our 
beautiful park.” 

“That would be splendid!” said Miss Baffin. 
“May I go, pa?” 

“Well, I don’t know,” said the Professor, with 
hesitation, and looking inquiringly at the Hermit. 
As that individual appeared to regard the proposi- 
tion with no such feeling of alarm as would indicate 
a breach of ordinary social custom, the Professor 
continued, “Yes, dear, but be sure not to go beyond 
earshot.” 

Sir Dinadan, smiling, led Miss Baffin away, and 
the Professor sat down to finish his cigar and to 
have some further conversation with the Hermit. 
Before he had time to begin, two other visitors ar- 
rived. Both were young men, gaily dressed in rich 
costume. One of them, whom the recluse greeted 
as Sir Bleoberis, had a tall, slender figure and an 
exceedingly handsome countenance, which was 
adorned with a moustache and pointed beard. His 
companion, Sir Agravaine, was smaller, less comely, 
and if his face was an index of his mind, by no means 
so intelligent. 

After being presented to the Professor, whom they 
regarded with not a little curiosity, Sir Bleoberis 
said: 

“Holy father, the fair Ysolt was here and was 
taken away by the Baron, was she not?” 

“Yes!” 

“Alas!” said the Knight, “I see no hope. Whilst 
I am poor, the Baron will never relent.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


125 


“Never!” chimed in Sir Agravaine. 

“Is your poverty the only objection he has to 
you?” asked the Professor. 

“Yes.” 

“Well,” replied the Professor, “I can understand 
a father's feelings in such a case. It seems hard 
upon a young man, but naturally he wantshis daughter 
to be comfortable. Is there nothing you can turn 
your hand to to improve your fortunes?” 

“We might rob somebody,” said Sir Agravaine, 
with a reflective air. 

‘ ‘ Rob somebody !” exclaimed the Professor. 1 ‘ That 
is simply atrocious! Can't you go to work; go 
into business, start a factory, speculate in stocks, 
or something of that kind?” 

“Persons of my degree never work,” said Sir 
Bleoberis. 

The Professor sighed, “Ah! I forgot. We must 
think of something else. Let me see; young man, 
I think I can help you a little, perhaps. You agree 
to accept some information from me and I believe 
I can make your fortune.” 

“Do you propose,” asked Sir Agravaine, “to drug 
the Baron, or to enchant him so that he will change 
his mind? I have often tried love-philters with 
ladies whose hands I sought, but they always failed.” 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Professor. “I don't 
operate with such trumpery as that. You agree to 
help me, and we'll give this island such a stirring 
up as will revolutionize it.” 

The Professor then proceeded to explain in detail 
the nature and operation of some of the scientific 


126 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


apparatus which he had with him in his trunk; and 
the Knight and the Hermit listened with open-eyed 
amazement while he told them of the telegraph, the 
telephone, the phonograph, the photograph, and 
other modem inventions. 

Whilst the Professor waxed eloquent, Sir Dina- 
dan and Miss Baffin strolled slowly back towards 
the cave. 

Sir Dinadan had improved the opportunity to 
offer Miss Baffin his hand, rather abruptly. 

“But you can try to love me,” he pleaded, as she, 
with much embarrassment but with gentleness, 
resisted his importunity. 

“I can try, Sir Dinadan,” she said, blushing, “but 
really I have known you for only a few moments. 
It is impossible for me now to have any affection 
for you.” 

“Will tomorrow be time enough?” 

“No, no! I must have a much longer time than 
that.” 

“I will fight for you. We will get up a tourna- 
ment and you will see how I can unhorse the bravest 
knights. If I knock over ten, will that make any 
difference in your feelings?” 

“Not the slightest!” 

“Fifteen?” 

“You do not understand. It is not the custom 
in our country to press a suit upon a lady by poking 
people off of a horse.” 

“Perhaps I ought to fight your father? Will Sir 
Baffin break a lance with me to decide if I shall have 
you?” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


127 


“My father does not fight.” 

“ Does not fight! Certainly you don’t mean that?” 

“He is the Vice-President of the Universal Peace 
Society.” 

“The WHAT?” asked Sir Dinadan, in amaze- 
ment. 

“Of the Peace Society; a society which opposes 
fighting of every kind, under any circumstances.” 

It was a moment or two before Sir Dinadan could 
get his breath. Then he said: 

“But — but then, Lady Tilly, what — what do men 
in your country do with themselves?” 

Miss Baffin laughed and endeavored to explain to 
him the modem methods of existence. 

“I never could have believed such a thing from 
other lips,” said Sir Dinadan. “It is marvelous. 
But tell me, how do lovers woo in your land?” 

“Really, Sir Dinadan,” replied Miss Baffin, blush- 
ing, “I have had no experience worth speaking of 
in such matters. I suppose, perhaps, they show a 
lady that they love her. and then wait until she can 
make up her mind.” 

“I will wait, then, as long as you wish.” 

“But,” said Miss Baffin, shyly, although plainly 
she was beginning to feel a genuine interest in the 
proceeding, “your father and your mother may not 
think as you do; and then, I shall not want to stay 
upon this island if I can get away.” 

“My mother always consents to anything I wish, 
and the Baron never dares to oppose what she 
wants. And if you go back to your own country, 
I will go with you, whether you accept me or not.” 


i2& 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Miss Baffin smiled. Sir Dinadan was in earnest, 
at any rate. She could not help thinking of the 
sensation that would be created in Connock if she 
should walk up Main street of the town some after- 
noon with Sir Dinadan in his parti-colored dress of 
doublet and stockings, and jaunty feathered cap, 
and sword, while his long yellow hair dangled about 
his shoulders. 

While Sir Dinadan was protesting that he should 
love her for ever and for ever, they came back again 
to the Hermit’s cell, and then Sir Dinadan, greeting 
Sir Bleoberis and Sir Agravaine, presented Miss 
Baffin to them. 

Sir Bleoberis was courteous but somewhat indif- 
ferent; Sir Agravaine, upon the contrary, appeared 
to be deeply impressed with Miss Baffin’s beauty. 
After gazing at her steadily for a few moments, he 
approached her, and while the other members of the 
company engaged in conversation, he said: 

“Fair lady, you are not married?” 

“No, sir,” replied Miss Baffin, with some indig- 
nation. 

“Permit me, then, to offer you my hand.” 

“What!” exclaimed Miss Baffin, becoming angry. 

“I love you. Will you be mine?” said Sir Agra- 
vaine, falling upon one knee and trying to take her 
hand. 

Miss Baffin boxed his ear with a degree of violence. 

Rising with a rueful countenance, he said: 

“Am I to understand, then, that you decline the 
offer?” 

Miss Baffin, without replying, walked away from 
him and joined her father. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


129 


Sir Dinadan was asking the Hermit for a few 
simples with which to relieve the suffering of his 
noble mother. 

“I judge, from what you say,” returned the Pro- 
fessor, “that the Baroness is afflicted with lumbago. 
The Hermit’s remedies, I fear, will be ineffectual. 
Permit me to recommend you to iron her noble 
back, and to apply a porous plaster.” 

Sir Dinadan wished to have the process more 
clearly explained. The Professor unfolded the mat- 
ter in detail, and said: 

“I have some plasters in my trunk, down there 
upon the beach.” 

“Then you are a leech?” asked Sir Dinadan. 

“Matilda, my child,” remarked the Professor, 
“observe that word ‘leech’ used by Sir Dinadan! 
How very interesting it is! Not exactly a leech, 
Sir Dinadan; but it is my habit to try to know a 
little of everything.” 

“Can you cast a lover’s horoscope?” asked Sir 
Agravaine, looking at Matilda. 

“Young man,” said the Professor, sternly, “there 
is no such foolery as a horoscope; and as for love, 
you had better let it alone until you have more wit 
and a heavier purse.” 

“I wish you and the Lady Tilly to come with me 
to the castle,” remarked Sir Dinadan. “My father 
will welcome you heartily if you can medicine the 
sickness of my mother; and she will be eager to 
receive your fair daughter.” 

“I will go, of course,” replied the Professor; “you 
are very kind. Tilly, we had better accept, I think?” 


130 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Miss Baffin was willing to leave the matter wholly 
in the hands of her father. 

After requesting Sir Dinadan to have his luggage 
brought up from the beach, the Professor bade adieu 
to the Hermit, and then turning to Sir Bleoberis, 
who stood with a disconsolate air by the fire, he 
said: 

“I will see you again about your affair; and mean- 
time you may depend upon my using my influence 
with the Baron to remove his prejudices. I will 
dance at your wedding yet; that is, figuratively 
speaking, of course; for, as a precise matter of fact, 
I do not know how to dance.” 

As the Professor and Sir Dinadan and Miss Baffin 
left the cell, Sir Agravaine approached the lady and 
whispered : 

“Did I understand you to say you don’t love me?” 
Miss Baffin twitched the skirt of her gown to one 
side in a scornful way, and passed on without replying. 

“Women,” sighed Sir Agravaine, as he looked 
mournfully after her, “are so incomprehensible. I 
wish I knew what she meant.” 

THE CASTLE OF BARON BORS 

As Sir Dinadan led the Professor and Miss Baffin 
along the lovely path which went winding through 
the woods toward the castle, the Professor lighted 
another cigar, and in response to Sir Dinadan, he 
entered upon an explanation of the nature of to- 
bacco, the methods and extent of its use, and its 
effect upon the human system. 

“The Lady Tilly, of course she smokes sometimes, 
also?” asked Sir Dinadan. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


131 


“Oh, no,” replied Miss Baffin, “ladies in my 
country never do.” 

“Of course not,” added the Professor. 

“And yet, if it is so pleasing and so beneficial as 
you say,” responded the youth, “why should not 
ladies attempt it?” 

The Professor really could not say; Sir Dinadan 
was pressing him almost too closely. He compro- 
mised further discussion by yielding promptly, al- 
though with a melancholy reflection that his store 
of cigars was small, to a request to teach Sir Dina- 
dan, at the earliest opportunity, to smoke. 

As they neared the castle, the Professor’s atten- 
tion was absorbed in observing the details of the 
structure. It was a massive edifice of stone, having 
severe outlines and no ornamentation worthy of the 
name, but' presenting, from the very grandeur of its 
proportions, an impressive and not unpleasing ap- 
pearance. It was surrounded by a wide fosse filled 
with water; and the Professor was delighted to ob- 
serve, as they drew near, that the entrance was 
protected with a portcullis and a drawbridge. The 
bridge was drawn up, and the iron portcullis, made 
of bars of huge size, was closed. 

“Magnificent, isn’t it, Tilly?” exclaimed the Pro- 
fessor, gleefully. “It is probably the most perfect 
specimen of early English architecture now upon 
earth. Most fortunately I have in my trunks a 
photographic apparatus with which to obtain a pic- 
ture of it.” 

Sir Dinadan seized a curved horn which hung 
upon the branch of a tree, and blew a blast loud 
and long upon it. 


132 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


The Professor regarded the performance with in- 
tense interest and not a little enthusiasm. 

The warder of the castle appeared at the grating, 
and, perceiving Sir Dinadan, saluted him; then 
lowering the drawbridge and lifting the portcullis, 
which ascended with many hideous creaks and groans 
from the rusty iron, Sir Dinadan and his com- 
panions entered. 

Leaving the Professor and Miss Baffin comfort- 
ably seated in a great hall, the walls of which were 
adorned with curious tapestries dark with age, with 
swords and axes and trophies of the chase, Sir Dina- 
dan went in search of the Baron. 

“Little did we think, Tilly,” said the Professor, 
looking around, “when we left New York four weeks 
ago — it seems more like four years — that we should 
find ourselves, within a month, in such a place as 
this.” 

“I can hardly believe it yet,” responded Miss 
Baffin. 

“It does seem like a dream. And yet we are 
certainly wide awake, and we are in the hall of a 
real castle, waiting for real people to come to us.” 

“Sir Dinadan seems very real, too,” said Miss 
Baffin, timidly. 

“Very! There can be no doubt about it.” 

“And he behaves like a real young man, too,” 
continued Miss Baffin. “He proposed to me this 
morning.” 

“What! Proposed to you! Incredible! Why, the 
boy has not known you more than an hour or two.” 

“He is a man, pa; not a boy,” said Miss Baffin, 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


133 


a little hurt. “It was rather sudden; but, then, 
genuine affection sometimes manifests itself in that 
way.” 

The Professor smiled; he perceived the exact situa- 
tion of things. Then he looked very serious again. 
This was a contingency of which he had not taken 
account. 

“Well, Tilly,” he said, “I hardly know what to 
say about the matter. It is so completely unex- 
pected. You didn’t accept him?” 

“No; not exactly, but ” 

“Very well, then. We will leave the situation as 
it is for the present. When we have been here longer 
we can better determine what we should do.” 

Sir Dinadan entered with the Baron. The Baron 
greeted his guests with warmth, making no allusion 
to the occurrences in the Hermit’s cell, and appear- 
ing, indeed, to have forgotten them. 

“It is enough, sir, and fair damsel, that misfortune 
has thrown you upon our shores. You shall make 
this your home while you live.” 

“A thousand thanks,” responded the Professor. 

“I cherish the belief that I can be of service to 
you. By the way, may I ask how is the noble Lady 
Bors?” 

“Suffering greatly. My son tells me you are a 
wise leech, and can give her release from her pain.” 

“I hope I can. If you will permit my daughter, 
here, to see the lady and to follow my directions, we 
may be able to help her.” 

“There,” said the Baron, waving his hand, “are 
your apartments. When you have made ready we 
will summon you to our banquet.” 


134 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“Your property, which was upon the beach, will 
be placed before you very soon,” said Sir Dinadan. 

The Professor and Miss Baffin entered the rooms, 
and the Baron withdrew with his son. 

When the trunks came and were opened, the guests 
arrayed themselves in their finest costumes, and 
Miss Baffin contrived to give to her beauty a bewilder- 
ing effect by an artistic arrangement of frippery, 
which received its consummation when she placed 
some lovely artificial flowers in her hair. 

Then the Professor, giving her certain plasters and 
a soothing drug or two, requested a servant, who 
stood outside the door, to announce to Lady Bors 
that Miss Baffin was ready to give her treatment. 

Sir Dinadan came forward and gallantly escorted 
Miss Baffin to his mother’s room; where, after pre- 
senting her, he left her and returned to the Pro- 
fessor. 

The young man led the Professor about the castle, 
showing him its apartments, its furniture and deco- 
rations, with an earnest purpose to try to find favor 
in the eyes of the father of the woman he loved. 
The Professor, for his part, was charmed with his 
companion, and his interest in the castle and its 
appurtenances increased every moment. 

“This,” said Sir Dinadan, pausing before a large 
oaken door, barred with iron, “is the portal to the 
upper room of the south tower. In this chamber 
the Baron has confined Ysolt, my sister, until she 
consents to think no more of Sir Bleoberis.” 

“Locked her up, has he? That seems hard.” 

“Cruel, is it not?” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


135 


“You favor the suit of the Knight, do you?” 
inquired the Professor. 

“I would let Ysolt choose for herself. He is a 
worthy man; but he has poverty.” 

“We must try to help him,” said the Professor. 

“You would act differently in such a case; would 
you not?” asked Sir Dinadan, rather eagerly. 

“Why, yes, of course; that is, I mean,” said the 
Professor, suddenly recollecting himself, and what 
Miss Baffin had told him, “I mean, I would think 
about it. I would give the matter thoughtful con- 
sideration.” 

Sir Dinadan sighed, and asked the Professor if he 
would come with him to the dining-hall. 

It was a noble room. As the Professor entered 
it with Sir Dinadan, as he looked at the vast fire- 
place filled with burning logs, because the air of the 
castle was chilly even in summer time, at the rudely 
carved beams that traversed the ceiling, at the 
quaint curtains and curious ornaments upon the 
walls, at the long table which stretched across the 
floor and bore upon its polished surface a multitude 
of vessels of strange and often fantastic shapes, he 
could hardly believe his senses. These things, this 
method of existence, he had read about myriads of 
times, but they had never seemed very real to him 
until he encountered them here face to face. 

These people among whom he had come by such 
strange mischance actually lived and moved here, 
amid these scenes, and they were as common and 
as prosy to them as the scenes in his own home in 
the little enclosure hard by the walls of the univer- 
sity building at Balligomingo. 


136 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


It was that home and its equipment that seemed 
strange and incongruous to him now. As he thought 
about it, he felt that he should experience an actual 
nervous shock if he should suddenly be plumped 
down in his own library. Very oddly, as his mind 
reverted to the subject, his memory recalled with 
peculiarly vivid distinctness an old and faded dress- 
ing-gown in which he used to come to breakfast; 
and a blue cream-jug with a broken handle, which 
used to be placed before him at the meal. 

It seemed to him that the dressing-gown and the 
defective jug were as far back in the misty past as 
such a social condition as that with which he had 
now been brought into contact would have seemed 
if he had thought of it a month ago. 

As the servants entered, bearing the viands upon 
large dishes, the Baron made his appearance at the 
upper end of the room, and a moment later Lady 
Bors walked slowly in, leaning upon the arm of 
Miss Baffin. 

“Your sweet daughter,” she said, when the Pro- 
fessor had been presented to her, “has eased my 
pain already. I think she must be an angel sent 
to me by Heaven.” 

“She is an angel,” said Sir Dinadan, emphatically, 
so that his mother looked at him curiously. Miss 
Baffin blushed. 

“Angels, my lady, do not come with porous plas- 
ters,” said the Professor, smiling. 

“I love her already, whether she is angel or 
woman,” replied Lady Bors, patting Miss Baffin's 
arm. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


137 


“So do — ” Sir Dinadan did not complete the 
sentence. It occurred to him that he might perhaps 
be getting a little too demonstrative. 

“The Lady Tilly,” said the Baroness, “has told 
me something of the adventure which brought you 
here. Will you be so courteous as to tell us more, 
and to inform us of that strange and wonderful land 
from which you have come?” 

“Willingly, madam,” replied the Professor. And 
so, while the meal was in progress, the Professor — 
not neglecting the food, for he was really hungry — 
tried, in the plainest language he could command, to 
convey to the minds of his hearers some notion of 
the marvels of modern civilization. The Baron, 
Lady Bors, and Sir Dinadan asked many questions, 
and they more than once expressed the greatest 
astonishment at the revelations made in the Pro- 
fessor’s narrative. 

“I will show you some of these wonders,” said 
Professor Baffin. “Most happily I have with me 
in my trunks quite a number of instruments, such 
as those I have told you of.” 

“In your trunks!” exclaimed the Baron. “You do 
not wear trunks, as we do?” 

The Professor at once explained the misappre- 
hension. When he had done, there was heard in 
the room the twanging of the strings of a rude 
musical instrument. 

“It is the minstrel,” said Sir Dinadan, as the 
Professor and Miss Baffin looked around. 

The Professor was delighted. 

“He is going to sing,” said the Baron. 


138 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


The bard, after a few preliminary thrums upon 
an imbecile harp, burst into song. He occupied 
several moments in reciting a ballad of chivalry, 
and although his manner was dramatic, his voice 
was sadly cracked and out of tune. 

“ Tilly, ” said the Professor, “remember to note 
in your journal that the musical system here is con- 
structed from a defective minor scale, with incorrect 
intervals. I observed precisely the same character- 
istics in the song that our Irish nurse, Mary, used 
to put you to sleep with when you were a baby. 
I stood outside the chamber door one night, and wrote 
the strain down as she sang it. This proves that 
it is very ancient.” 

“You like the song, then?” asked the Baron. 

“It is very interesting, indeed — very!” replied the 
Professor. “I think we shall obtain a great deal of 
valuable information here. No, Tilly, you had 
better refuse it,” said the Professor, observing that 
Sir Dinadan, who appeared to be animated by a 
resolute purpose to stuff Miss Baffin, was pressing 
another dish upon her, “you will spoil your night’s 
rest.” 

“Do you sing, Sir Baffin?” inquired Lady Bors. 

“Never in company, my lady,” replied the Pro- 
fessor; “my vocalization would excite too much 
alarm.” 

The Baron and his wife manifestly did not com- 
prehend the pleasantry. 

“My daughter sings very nicely; but you can 
hear her sing without her lips being opened. Excuse 
me for a moment.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


139 


The Professor went to his apartment, and pres- 
ently returned, bringing with him a phonograph. 
Placing it upon the table, he turned the crank. 
From the funnel at once issued a lovely soprano 
voice, singing, with exquisite enunciation and in- 
flection, a song, every word of which was heard by 
the listeners. 

Lady Bors looked scared, Sir Dinadan crossed 
himself, the Baron eyed the Professor doubtfully, the 
minstrel over in the comer laid down his harp, and 
relieved his overcharged feelings by bursting into 
tears, which he wiped away with the sleeve of his 
tunic. 

“It must be magic,” said the Baron, at last; “no 
mere man could hide an angelic spirit in such a place 
and compel it to sing.” 

“Allow me to explain,” said the Professor; and 
then he unfolded the mechanism, and showed the 
method of its operation. “My daughter sang up 
several songs for me before we left home. They 
were stored away here for future use. Tilly, my 
love, sing something, so that our friends can per- 
ceive that it is the same voice.” 

Miss Baffin, after some hesitation, began “The 
Last Rose of Summer.” While she sang, Sir Dina- 
dan looked at her with rapture depicted on his coun- 
tenance. When she had done he reflected for an 
instant, and then, rising and walking over to the 
place where the minstrel sat, he seized by the ear 
that unfortunate operator with defective minor 
scales, and, leading him to the door, he kicked him 
into the hall. 


140 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


This appeared to relieve Sir Dinadan’s feelings. 

When he returned, the Professor persuaded him 
to have his voice recorded by the phonograph; and 
by the time the Baron and Lady Bors had also 
tried the experiment, the faith of the family in the 
powers of Professor Baffin had risen to such a pitch 
that the Baron would have been almost ready to 
lay wagers in favor of his omnipotence. 

The Professor that evening accepted for himself 
and his daughter a very urgent invitation to make 
the castle their home, at least until Fate and the 
future should determine if they were to remain per- 
manently upon the island. The chance that they 
would ever escape seemed indeed exceedingly slen- 
der; and the Professor resolved to accept the promise 
with philosophical resignation. 

He employed much of his time during the first 
weeks that he was the Baron’s guest in making the 
Baron familiar with some of the wonders of modern 
discovery and invention. The Baron also was deeply 
interested in an exhibition given by the Professor 
of the powers of his patent india-rubber life-raft, 
which the Professor brought up from the beach folded 
into a small bundle. After inflating it, to the amaze- 
ment of the spectators, he put it into the fosse that 
surrounded the castle and paddled about upon it. 
The raft was allowed to remain in the ditch ready 
for use. 

The Professor often went outside the castle walls 
to talk with Sir Bleoberis, and to comfort him. 
The Professor explained the telegraph and the loco- 
motive to the Knight; and when the Knight assured 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


141 


him that the armorers of the island could make 
the machinery that would be required, if they should 
receive suitable instructions, the Professor arranged 
to build a short railroad line and a telegraph line 
in partnership with Sir Bleoberis, if the latter would 
obtain the necessary concession from King Brande- 
gore. Professor Baffin was of the opinion that the 
Knight, by such means, might ultimately acquire 
great wealth. 

Meantime Sir Dagonet had been seen several 
times of late in the vicinity of the castle, and once 
he had made again a formal demand upon the Baron 
for Ysolt’s hand. This the Baron refused, where- 
upon Sir Dagonet returned an insolent reply that he 
would have her in spite of her father’s objection. 
The Professor sincerely pitied both Ysolt and Sir 
Bleoberis, but as the Baron always became violently 
angry when the suffering of the lovers was alluded 
to, the Professor disliked to plead their cause. 

It occurred to him, however, one day that there 
could be no possible harm in arranging to permit 
the forlorn creatures to converse with each other; 
and so, with the help of Miss Baffin, who was allowed 
to enter the captive’s room, he fixed up a telephone, 
the machinery of which he had in one of his trunks, 
with a wire running from Ysolt’s window to a point 
some distance beyond the castle wall. 

The battery with which the instruments were 
supplied was placed in an iron box furnished by Sir 
Bleoberis, and hidden behind a huge oak tree. 

The lovers were delighted with the telephone and 
its performances; but the Professor’s ingenious kind- 
ness caused him a great deal of serious trouble. 


142 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


It seems that Miss Baffin one morning had been 
showing her father’s umbrella to Ysolt, and making 
her acquainted with its peculiarities and uses. 

When Miss Baffin had withdrawn, Sir Bleoberis 
began to breathe through the telephone protestations 
of his undying love, and finally he appealed to Ysolt 
to fly with him. Of course he expected nothing to 
come of this appeal, for he had not the slightest 
conception of any method by which Ysolt could 
escape from her prison. He merely threw it in, in 
a general sort of a way, as an expression of the in- 
tensity of his affection. 

But it suggested to the mind of Ysolt an ingenious 
thought; and she responded through the telephone 
that if Sir Bleoberis would keep out of sight and 
have his gallant steed ready, she would join him 
in a few moments. The Knight’s heart beat so 
fiercely at this news that it fairly made his armor 
vibrate. 

Obeying the orders of Ysolt, he went behind the 
oak and sat upon the iron box containing the Pro- 
fessor’s battery and electrical apparatus. 

Ysolt’s window was but twenty feet from the sur- 
face of the water in the fosse. Directly beneath it, 
by a most fortunate chance, floated the life-raft of 
Professor Baffin. The brave girl, climbing upon 
the stone sill of the window, hoisted the umbrella, 
and sailing swiftly downward through the air, she 
alighted safely upon the raft. A single push upon 
the wall sent it to the further side of the ditch, where- 
upon Ysolt leaped ashore, unperceived by the warder 
or by any one in the castle. 


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143 


A moment more, and seated upon the steed of 
her cavalier, with his strong arm around her, she 
would be flying to peace and happiness and love’s 
sweet fulfilment, far, far beyond the reach of the 
angry Baron’s power. 

But, alas, human life is so full of mischances! As 
Ysolt neared the great oak behind which her lover 
sat, Sir Dagonet came riding carelessly across the 
lawn. Seeing her he spurred his horse forward, and, 
right before the eyes of Sir Bleoberis, he grasped her 
by the arm, tossed her to his saddle and dashed away 
across the country. 

But why did not Sir Bleoberis leap to the rescue? 

Sir Bleoberis tried with all his might to do so; 
but he had on a full suit of steel armor, and the 
Professor’s battery, by some means even yet unex- 
plained, so charged the cover of the box with mag- 
netism that it held the Knight close down. He 
could not move a muscle of his legs. He writhed 
and twisted and expressed his fury in language that 
was vehement and scandalous; but the Professor’s 
infamous machine held him fast; and he was com- 
pelled to sit by, imbecile and raging, while the wind 
bore to his ears the heart-rending screams of his 
sweetheart as she cried to him to come and save 
her from an awful fate. 

The shrieks of the unhappy Ysolt penetrated to 
the castle, and at once the Baron ran out, followed 
by Sir Dinadan, Professor Baffin, and a host of the 
Baron’s retainers, all of them armed and ready for 
war. The first act of the Professor was to capture 
his expanded umbrella, which was being blown about 


144 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


wildly by the wind. Furling it, he proceeded to 
the place where Sir Bleoberis sat, trying to explain 
to the infuriated Baron what had happened. 

“ There !” said Sir Bleoberis, savagely, pointing to 
the Professor, “is the vile wretch that did it all! 
Seize him! He, he alone is to blame.” 

The Professor was amazed. 

“Yes!” exclaimed Sir Bleoberis, “it was he who 
persuaded the fair Ysolt to leap from the window; 
it was he who notified Sir Dagonet, and it is his 
wicked enchantment that held me here so that I 
could not fly to her succor. I cannot even get up 
now.” 

“The man,” said the Professor to the Baron, 
“appears to be suffering from intellectual aberra- 
tion. I can’t imagine what he means. Why don’t 
you rise?” 

“You, foul wizard, know that I am held here by 
your infernal power!” 

“Try to be calm,” said the Professor, soothingly. 
“Your expressions are too strong. Let me see — . 
Why, bless my soul, the electrical current has mag- 
netized the box. There, now,” said the Professor as 
he snipped a couple of the wires, “try it again.” 

Sir Bleoberis arose without effort. Baron Bors 
stepped forward and said sternly: 

“What, you, Sir Bleoberis, were doing here I do 
not know. I suspect you of evil purposes. But it 
is clear you had nothing to do with the seizure of 
my daughter, if, indeed, she has been carried off by 
Sir Dagonet. You may go. But as for you,” shouted 
the Baron, turning to the Professor, “I perceive that 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


145 


your devilish arts have been used against me and 
my family while you have been eating my bread. 
The world shall no longer be burdened by such a 
monster. Away with him to the scaffold !” 

“This,” said the Professor, as the perspiration 
stood in beads upon his pallid face, “is painful; 
very painful. Allow me to explain. The fact is 
I 

“Away!” said the Baron, with an impatient ges- 
ture. “Off with his head as quickly as possible!” 

“But, my dear sir,” contended the Professor, as 
the Baron’s retainers seized him, “this is simply 
awful! No court, no jury, no trial, no chance to tell 
my story! It is not just. It is not fair play. Permit 
me, for one moment, to ” 

“To the block with him!” screamed the Baron. 
“Have no more parley about it!” 

Sir Bleoberis came forward. 

“Sir Bors,” he said, “this, in a measure, is my 
quarrel. It falls to me by right to punish this wretch. 
Will you permit me?” and then Sir Bleoberis struck 
the Professor in the face with his mailed gauntlet. 

Professor Baffin would have assailed him upon the 
spot, but for the fact that he was a captive. 

“He means that you shall fight him,” said Sir 
Dinadan, who retained his faith in the Professor, 
remembering his own affection for Miss Baffin. 

“Certainly I will,” said the Professor. “Where, 
and when, and how? I should like to have it out 
right here on the spot.” 

It is melancholy to think what would have been 
the sorrow of the members of the Universal Peace 


10 


146 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Society, of which the Professor was the first vice- 
president, if they could have observed the eager- 
ness with which that good man seemed to long for 
the fray, and the fiery rage which beamed from his 
eyes until the sparks almost appeared to fly from 
his spectacles. 

Miss Baffin at this moment rushed upon the scene, 
and in wild affright flung her arms about her father. 

“The contest shall be made/’ said the Baron 
sternly. “Unhand him!” 

The Professor hurriedly explained the matter to 
Matilda, who sobbed piteously. 

“You shall have my armor, my horse, and my 
lance,” said Sir Dinadan in a kindly voice to the 
Professor. “Go and get them,” he continued, speak- 
ing to some of the servants. 

“Thank you,” said the Professor. “I am much 
obliged. You are a fine young man.” 

“But, pa,” said Miss Baffin through her tears, 
“surely you are not going to fight?” 

“Yes, my love.” 

“And you a member of the Peace Society, too.” 

“I can’t help it, my child. You may omit to note 
this extraordinary occurrence in your journal. The 
Society may as well remain in ignorance of it. But 
I must conform to the customs of the place.” 

“How can you ever do anything upon a horse, 
with armor and a lance? It is dreadful!” 

“No, my child, it may perhaps be regarded as 
fortunate. For many years I have longed to ob- 
serve the practices of ancient chivalry more closely; 
that opportunity has now come. I am about to 
have actual practical experience with them.” 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


147 


Miss Baffin wiped her eyes as Sir Dinadan came 
to her side and tried to comfort her. Sir Agravaine, 
who had ridden up during the excitement, dismounted 
when he saw Miss Baffin, and pulling Sir Dinadan 
by the sleeve, he whispered: 

“You are acquainted with that lady?” 

“Yes.” 

“Would you mind ascertaining for me if I am to 
understand her remarkable conduct to me as tanta- 
mount to a refusal? I don’t want to trouble you, 
but ” 

Sir Dinadan turned abruptly away, leaving Sir 
Agravaine still involved in doubt. 

When the armor came, Sir Dinadan helped the 
Professor to put it on. It was a size or two too 
large for him, and the Professor had a considerable 
amount of difficulty in adjusting the pieces prop- 
erly, but, with the help of Sir Dinadan, he at last 
succeeded'. 

“Bring me my lance!” he exclaimed, with a firm 
voice, as he stepped forward. 

“It is here,” said Sir Dinadan. 

“Farewell, my child,” said the Professor to Miss 
Baffin, making a futile attempt to bend his elbows 
so that he could embrace her. “Farewell!” and the 
Professor tried to kiss her, but he merely succeeded 
in injuring her nose with the visor of his helmet. 

“Oh, pa!” said Miss Baffin, weeping, “if you should 
be killed.” 

“No danger of that, love; none at all. I am per- 
fectly safe. I feel exactly as if I were a cooking- 
stove, to be sure; but you may depend upon my 


148 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


giving a good account of myself. And now, dear, 
adieu! Ho, there !” exclaimed the Professor, with 
faint reminiscences of the tragic stage coming into 
his mind. “ Bring me my steed! 5 ' 

The determined efforts of four muscular men were 
required to mount the Professor upon his horse. 
And when he was fairly astride, with his lance in 
his hand, he felt as if he weighed at least three 
thousand pounds, and the weapon seemed quite as 
large as the jib-boom of the “ Morning Star. 5 ' 

The warrior did his best to sit his horse grace- 
fully; but the miserable beast pranced and curveted 
in such a very unreasonable manner that his spec- 
tacles were continually shaking loose, and in his 
efforts to fix them, and at the same time to hold 
his horse, he lost control of his lance, and came near 
impaling two or three of the spectators. 

Sir Dinadan’s own groom then took the bridle- 
rein, and leading the horse quietly to the jousting- 
ground put him in place directly opposite to Sir 
Bleoberis, whose lance was in rest, and who evi- 
dently intended to spit the Professor through and 
through at the first encounter. 

The Professor really felt uncomfortably at a dis- 
advantage in his iron-clad condition, and he began 
to think that the sports and combats of the olden 
time were perhaps not so interesting after all, when 
brought within the range of practical experience. 

Suddenly the herald’s trumpet sounded a blast. 
The Professor had not the least notion of the mean- 
ing of the sound, but Sir Bleoberis started promptly 
towards him, and the Professor’s horse, trained at 


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149 


jousting, also started. The Professor was not quite 
ready, and he pulled the rein hard while trying to 
fix his lance in its rest. This caused the horse to 
swerve sharply around, whereupon the warrior’s 
spectacles came off, and the horse dashed at full 
speed to the side of the jousting-ground, bringing 
the half-blinded Professor’s lance up against a tree, 
into which the point stuck fast. The Professor was 
hurled with some violence to the ground, and the 
horse ran away. 

When they picked him up and unlatched his hel- 
met, he was bleeding at the nose. 

“It is of no consequence, Matilda, of no conse- 
quence, I assure you,” he said. “I am shaken up 
a little, but not hurt. I think, perhaps, I need 
practice at this kind of thing.” 

The Professor, while speaking, felt about him in 
a bewildered way for the pocket in which he was 
used to keep his handkerchief. But as the armor 
baffled his efforts to find it, Miss Baffin offered him 
her kerchief with which to stanch the blood. 

“The ancients, Matilda,” said the Professor, as 
he pressed the handkerchief to his nose, “must have 
possessed great physical strength, and they could 
not have been near-sighted. By the way, where 
are my glasses?” 

Sir Dinadan handed them to him. 

“You will not attempt to get on that horrid horse, 
again, pa, will you?” said Miss Baffin, entreatingly. 

“I think not, my child, unless I am forced to do 
so. Jousting is interesting to read about; but as a 
matter of fact it is brutal. I think, Sir Dinadan, I 


150 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


should be more comfortable if I could get this cast- 
iron overcoat off, so that I could move my elbows 
without creaking.” 

Sir Dinadan helped him to remove his armor, and 
said: 

“My noble mother has insisted that Sir Bleoberis 
shall not fight with you, and the Baron has yielded 
to her wish.” 

“How can I thank you?” exclaimed Miss Baffin. 

Sir Dinadan looked at her as if he would like to 
tell her how, if he dared venture. But he only said: 

“I deserve no thanks. My mother is upon your 
side and that of your father. She asks me to bring 
him to her.” 

The Baron was with his wife, and Sir Bleoberis 
stood before them. 

“Sir Baffin,” said the Baron, “Lady Bors insists 
that you are innocent of any wrong-doing; and Sir 
Bleoberis, seeing that you are unskilled, has resolved 
not to have a combat with you. I am willing to 
pardon you upon one condition: that you find my 
daughter and bring her back to me.” 

“That I should be willing to try to do under any 
circumstances,” said the Professor. “I regret her 
loss very deeply. But, you see, I know nothing of 
the country. I am afraid I should not discover her 
if I should go alone.” 

“I will go with you,” said Sir Bleoberis. 

“That is first-rate,” said the Professor. “Give 
me your hand.” 

“We will keep your daughter in the castle as a 
hostage,” said the Baron. “When you return with 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


151 


Ysolt you shall have the Lady Tilly, and Sir Bleo- 
beris shall have Ysolt.” 

“I am profoundly grateful,” replied Sir Bleoberis, 
bowing. 

“My dear,” said the Professor to Miss Baffin, 
“does the arrangement suit you?” 

“It suits me,” muttered Sir Dinadan. 

“I must stay whether I wish to or not,” replied 
Miss Baffin. “But I shall worry about you every 
moment while you are gone.” 

“Sir Dinadan may be able to soothe her,” said 
Sir Bleoberis, with a smile. 

“I think I could, if I were allowed to try,” in- 
sinuated Sir Agravaine. 

“I charge Sir Dinadan and his noble parents with 
the task,” said the Professor. 

The entire party, with the exception of Sir Agra- 
vaine, then returned to the castle, so that the Pro- 
fessor could make ready for the journey. 

THE RESCUE 

Professor Baffin politely declined to wear the armor 
of Sir Dinadan upon the journey. He packed a few 
things in a satchel, and putting his revolver in his 
pocket, he bade adieu to his daughter and the mem- 
bers of the Baron’s family. Mounting his horse by 
the side of Sir Bleoberis, who rode in full armor, 
the two trotted briskly out through the woods to 
the roadway, which ran by not far from the castle. 

“Where shall we go to look for the lady?” asked 
the Professor, as the Knight started down the road 
at a rapid pace. 


152 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“The villain, no doubt, has carried her captive to 
his castle. We shall seek her there.” 

“How are we going to get her out? I have had 
very little experience, personally, in storming castles.” 

“We shall have to devise some plan when we get 
there,” replied the Knight. “The castle, unhappily, 
is upon an island in the middle of the lake.” 

“And I can’t swim,” said the Professor. 

“Perhaps the King will give us help. It is close 
to the place where he holds his court.” 

The Professor began to think that the case looked 
exceedingly umpromising. He lapsed into silence, 
thinking over the probable results of the failure of 
his mission; and as the Knight appeared to be ab- 
sorbed in his own reflections, the pair rode forward 
without engaging in further conversation. 

Professor Baffin did not fail to notice the extreme 
loveliness of the country through which they were 
passing. It presented all the characteristics of a 
perfect English landscape; but he observed that it 
was not fully cultivated, and that the agricultural 
methods employed were of a very primitive kind. 

After an hour’s ride, the two horsemen entered a 
wood. Hardly had they done so before they heard, 
near to them, the voice of a woman crying loudly 
for help. Sir Bleoberis at once spurred his horse 
forward, and the Professor followed close behind him. 

Presently they perceived a Knight in armor en- 
deavoring to hold upon the horse in front of him 
a young woman of handsome appearance, who 
screamed loudly as she attempted to release herself 
from his grasp. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


153 


“Drop her!” exclaimed the Professor in an ex- 
cited manner, and drawing his revolver, “put her 
down; let her go at once!” 

The Knight turned, and seeing the intruders he 
released the maiden, and leveling his lance, made 
straight for Sir Bleoberis at full gallop. 

The lady, white with terror, flew to the Professor, 
and reposed her head upon his bosom. 

Professor Baffin was embarrassed. He had no 
idea what he had better do or say. He could not 
repulse the poor creature; and as the situation, upon 
the whole, was not positively disagreeable, he per- 
mitted her to remain, sobbing upon his bosom, while 
he watched the fight and dried her eyes, in a fatherly 
way, with his handkerchief. 

The two Knights came together with a terrible 
shock which made the sparks fly; but neither was 
unhorsed or injured, and the lances of both glanced 
aside. They turned, and made at each other again. 
This time the lance of each pierced the armor of 
the other, so that neither lance could be withdrawn. 
It really seemed as if the two Knights would have 
to undress and to walk off, leaving their armor 
pinioned together. A moment later the strange 
Knight fell to the ground, and lay perfectly still. 
The Professor went up to him and taking his lance 
from his hand, so that Sir Bleoberis could move, 
unlaced the Knight’s helmet. 

He was dead. 

The Professor was inexpressibly shocked. “Why,” 
he exclaimed, “the man is dead! Most horrible, 
isn’t it?” 


154 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“Oh, no,” said Sir Bleoberis, coolly. “I tried to 
kiU him.” 

“You wanted to murder him?” 

“Oh, yes, of course.” 

“I am so glad you did,” exclaimed the damsel 
with a sweet smile. “How can I thank you? And 
you, my dear preserver.” 

“Bless my soul, madam,” exclaimed the Professor, 
“I had nothing to do with it. I consider it per- 
fectly horrible.” 

Turning to Sir Bleoberis, the maiden said, “It 
was you who fought, but it was this brave and wise 
man who brought you here, was it not?” 

“Yes,” said Sir Bleoberis, smiling. 

“I knew it,” exclaimed the lady, flinging her arms 
around the Professor’s neck. “I can never repay 
you — never, never, excepting with a life of devotion.” 

The Professor began to feel warm. Disengaging 
himself as speedily as possible, he said: 

“Of course, madam, I am very glad you have 
been rescued — very. But I deeply regret that the 
Knight over there was slain. What,” asked the 
Professor of Sir Bleoberis, “will you do with him?” 

“Let him He. He is of no further use.” 

“I never heard of anything so shocking,” said 
Professor Baffin. “And how are we to dispose of 
this lady?” 

“I will go with you,” exclaimed the damsel, look- 
ing eagerly at the Professor. “Let me tell you my 
story. My name is Bragwaine. I am the daughter 
of the Prince Sagramor. That dead Knight found 
me, a few hours ago, walking in the park by my 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


155 


fathers castle. Sir Lamorak, he was called. Riding 
up swiftly to me, he seized me, and carried me away. 
He brought me, despite my screams and struggles, 
to this place, where you found us both. I should 
now be a captive in his castle but for you.” 

Bragwaine seemed about to fall upon the Pro- 
fessor’s neck again, but he pretended to stumble, and 
retreated to a safe distance. 

“Is there much of this kind of thing going on — this 
business of galloping off with marriageable girls?” 
asked the Professor. 

“Oh yes,” said Sir Bleoberis. 

“I thought so,” said the Professor; “this is the 
second case I have encountered today. We shall 
most likely have quite a collection of rescued dam- 
sels on our hands by the time we get back home. 
It is interesting, but embarrassing.” 

“I know Prince Sagramor,” said Sir Bleoberis to 
Bragwaine. “We are going to the court, and will 
take you to your father.” 

“ You will take me, Sir — Sir ” 

“Sir Baffin,” explained Sir Bleoberis. 

“Sir Baffin, will you not?” 

“You can have my horse. I will walk.” 

“I will ride upon your horse with you, and you 
shall hold me on,” said Bragwaine. 

“That is the custom,” said Bleoberis. 

“But,” exclaimed the Professor with an air of 
distress, “I am not used to riding double. I doubt 
if I can manage the horse and hold you on at the 
same time.” 

“You need not hold me,” said Bragwaine laugh- 
ingly; “I will hold fast to you. I shall not fall.” 


156 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“But then ” 

“I will go with you,” said Bragwaine almost tear- 
fully. “You won me from the hands of that villain, 
Lamorak, and I am not so ungrateful as to leave 
you to cling to another person.” 

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed the Professor, “this 
certainly is a very curious situation for a man like 
me to find himself in. However, I will do the best 
I can.” 

Professor Baffin mounted his steed, and then Sir 
Bleoberis swung the fair Bragwaine up to a place 
on the saddle in front of the Professor. Bragwaine 
clutched his coat-sleeve tightly; and although the 
Professor felt that there was no real necessity that 
she should attempt to preserve her equipoise by 
pressing his shoulder strongly with her head, he 
regarded the arrangement without very intense 
indignation. 

He found that he could ride very comfortably 
with two in the saddle, but he felt that his atten- 
tion could be given more effectively to the manage- 
ment of the horse if Bragwaine would stop turning 
her eyes up to his in that distracting manner so 
frequently. 

They rode along in silence for awhile. Suddenly 
Bragwaine said: 

“Sir Baffin?” 

“Well; what?” 

“Are you married?” 

Professor Baffin hardly knew what answer he had 
better give. After hesitating for a moment, he said: 

“I have been.” 


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157 


“Then your wife is dead?” 

The Professor could not lie. Fie had to say “Yes!” 

“I am so glad,” murmured Bragwaine. “Not 
that she is dead, but that you are free.” 

Professor Baffin was afraid to ask why. He felt 
that matters were becoming serious. 

“And the reason is,” continued Bragwaine, “that 
I have learned to love you better than I love any 
other one on earth!” 

She said this calmly, very modestly, and quite as 
if it were a matter of course. 

The Professor in astonishment looked at Sir Bleo- 
beris, who had heard Bragwaine’s words. The 
Knight nodded to him pleasantly, and said, “I ex- 
pected this.” 

Evidently it was not an unusual thing for ladies 
so to express their feelings. 

The somewhat bewildered Sir Baffin then said, 
“Well, my dear child, it is very kind indeed for you 
to regard me in that manner. I have done nothing 
to deserve it.” 

“You are my rescuer, my benefactor, my heart’s 
idol!” 

“Persons at my time of life,” said the Professor, 
blushing, “have to be extremely careful. I will be 
a father to you, of course! Oh, certainly, you may 
count upon me being a father to you, right along.” 

“I do not mean that I love you as a daughter. 
You must marry me; you dear Sir Baffin.” Then 
she actually patted his cheek. 

Professor Baffin could feel the cold perspiiation 
trickling down his back. 


158 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“I think,” he said to Sir Bleoberis, “that this is, 
everything considered, altogether the most stupen- 
dous combination of circumstances that ever came 
within the range of my observation. It is positively 
distressing.” 

“You will break my heart if you will not love 
me,” said Bragwaine, as if she were going to cry. 

“Well, well,” replied the bewildered Professor, “we 
can consider the subject at some other time. Your 
father, you know, might have other views, and ” 

“The Prince, my father, will overwhelm you with 
gratitude for saving me. I know he will approve 
of our marriage. I will persuade him to have you 
knighted, and to secure for you some high place at 
court.” 

“That,” said the Professor, “would probably 
make me acutely miserable for life.” 

Within an hour or two after the fight with Sir 
Lamorak, the Professor and his companions drew 
near to Callion, the town in which King Brandegore 
held his court. 

Just before entering it they encountered Prince 
Sagramor coming out with a retinue of knights in 
pursuit of Sir Lamorak and his daughter. Natu- 
rally he was filled with joy at finding that she had 
been rescued and brought back to him. 

After embracing her, he greeted Sir Bleoberis 
and the Professor warmly, thanking them for the 
service they had done to him. Bragwaine insisted 
upon the Professor’s especial title to gratitude, and 
when she had told with eloquence of his wisdom and 
his valor, and had added to her story Sir Bleoberiss’ 


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159 


explanation of the Professor’s adventures, the Prince 
saluted the latter, and said: 

“ There is only one way in which I can honor 
you, Sir Baffin. I perceive that already you have 
won the heart of this damsel. I had intended her 
for another. But she is fairly yours. Take her, 
gallant sir, and with her a loving father’s blessing!” 

Bragwaine wept for happiness. 

“But, your highness, if I might be permitted to 
explain — ” stammered the Professor. 

“I know!” replied the Prince. “You will perhaps 
say you are poor. It is nothing. I will make you 
rich. It is enough for me that she loves you, and 
that you return it.” 

“I cannot sufficiently thank you for your kind- 
ness,” said the Professor, “but really there is a ” 

“If you are not noble, the King will cure that. 
He wants such brave men as you are in his service,” 
said the Prince. 

“I am a free-born American citizen, and the equal 
of any man on earth,” said the Professor proudly, 
“but to tell you the honest truth, I ” 

“You are not already married?” inquired the 
Prince, somewhat suspiciously. 

“I have been married; my wife is dead, and ” 

“Then, of course, you can marry Bragwaine. Sir 
Colgrevance,” said the Prince to one of his attend- 
ants, “ride over and tell the abbot that Bragwaine 
will wish to be married tomorrow!” 

“Tomorrow!” shrieked the Professor. “I really 
must protest; you are much too sudden. I have 
an important mission to fulfil, and I must attend to 
that first, and at once.” 


160 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Sir Bleoberis explained to the Prince the nature 
of their errand, and told him the Professor’s daughter 
was held as a hostage until he should bring Ysolt 
back to Baron Bors. 

“We will delay the wedding, then,” said the Prince. 
“And now, let us ride homeward.” 

If it had not been for the heart-rending manner 
in which everybody regarded him as the future hus- 
band of Bragwaine, and for the extreme tenderness 
of that lady’s behavior toward him, the Professor 
would have enjoyed hugely his sojourn at the court. 
King Brandegore regarded him from the first with 
high favor, and the sovereign’s conduct of course 
sufficed to recommend the Professor to everybody 
else. The Professor found the King to be a man 
of rather large mind, and it was a continual source 
of pleasure to the learned man to unfold to the 
King, who listened with amazement and admiration, 
the wonders of modern invention, science and dis- 
covery. 

With what instruments the Professor’s ingenuity 
could construct from the rude materials at hand; 
he showed a number of experiments, chiefly electri- 
cal, which so affected the King that he ordered the 
regular court magician to be executed as a perfectly 
hopeless humbug; but Professor Baffin’s energetic 
protest saved the unhappy conjurer from so sad a 
fate. 

An extemporized telegraph line, a few hundred 
yards in length, impressed the King more strongly 
than any other thing, and not only did he make to 
Sir Bleoberis and the Professor exclusive concessions 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


161 


of the right to build lines within his dominions, but 
he promised to organize, at an early day, a raid upon 
a neighboring sovereign, for the purpose of obtaining 
plunder enough to give to the enterprise a handsome 
subsidy. 

Sir Dagonet did not come to court during the 
Professor’s stay. But there, in full view of the 
palace, a mile away in the lake, was his castle, and 
in that castle was the lovely Ysolt. 

The Professor examined the building frequently 
through his field-glasses, which, by the way, the 
King regarded with unspeakable admiration; and 
more than once he thought he could distinguish 
Ysolt sitting by the window of one of the towers 
overlooking the lake. 

The King several times sent to Sir Dagonet mes- 
sages commanding Sir Dagonet to bring the damsel 
to him, but as Sir Dagonet invariably responded by 
trying to brain the messenger or to sink his boat, the 
King was forced to give it up as a hopeless case. 
Storming the castle was out of the question. None 
of the available boats was large enough to carry 
more than half a dozen men, and Sir Dagonet had 
many boats of great size which he could man, so 
as to assail any hostile fleet before it came beneath 
the castle wall. 

But the Professor had a plan of his own, which 
he was working out in secret, while he waited. Sir 
Bleoberis had procured several skilful armorers, and 
under the directions of the Professor they under- 
took to construct, in rather a crude fashion, a small 
steam engine. This, when the parts were completed, 


11 


162 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


was fitted into a boat with a propeller screw, and 
when the craft was launched upon the lake, the 
Professor was delighted to find that it worked very 
nicely. The trial-trip was made at night, so that 
the secret of the existence of such a vessel might be 
kept from any of the friends of Sir Dagonet who 
might be loitering about. 

It devolved upon Sir Bleoberis, by bribing a ser- 
vant of Sir Dagonet’s who came ashore, to send a 
message to Ysolt. She was ordered to watch at a 
given hour upon a certain night for a signal which 
should be given from a boat, beneath her window, 
and then to leap fearlessly into the water. 

The night chosen was to be the eve of the Pro- 
fessor’s wedding day. The more Prince Sagramor 
saw of Professor Baffin and his feats, the more 
strongly did he admire him; and in order to make 
provision against any accident which should deprive 
his daughter of marriage with so remarkable a man, 
the Prince commanded the wedding day to be fixed 
positively, despite the remonstrances which the 
Professor offered somewhat timidly, in view of the 
extreme delicacy of the matter. 

Upon the night in question, the Professor, at the 
request of the King, who was very curious to have 
an opportunity to learn from practical experience 
the nature of the thing which the Professor called 
“a lecture,” undertook to deliver in the dining-room 
of the palace the lecture upon Sociology, which he 
had prepared for his course in England. 

The room was packed, and the interest and curi- 
osity at first manifested were intense; but the Pro- 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


163 


fessor spoke for an hour and three-quarters, losing his 
place several times because of the wretched char- 
acter of the lights, and when he had concluded, he 
was surprised to discover that his entire audience 
was sound asleep. 

At first he felt rather annoyed, but in an instant 
he perceived that chance had arranged matters in 
an extremely favorable manner. 

It was within precisely half an hour of the time 
when he was to be in the boat under the window 
of Ysolt. 

Stepping softly from the platform, he went upon 
tiptoe from the room. Not a sleeper awoke. Hurry- 
ing from the palace to the shore, he found Sir Bleo- 
beris sitting in the boat, and awaiting him with 
impatience. 

The Professor entered the craft, and applying a 
lighted match to the wood beneath the boiler, he 
pushed the boat away from the shore, and waited 
until he could get steam enough to move with. 

A few moments sufficed for this, and then, open- 
ing the throttle-valve gently, the tiny steamer sailed 
swiftly over the bosom of the lake, through the 
intense darkness, until the wall of the castle, dark 
and gloomy, loomed up directly ahead. 

A light was faintly burning in Ysolt’s chamber in 
the tower, and the casement was open. 

As the prow of the boat lightly touched the stones 
of the wall and rested, Sir Bleoberis softly whistled. 

“I have always been uncertain,” said the Pro- 
fessor to himself, “if the ancients knew how to 
whistle. This seems to indicate that they did know 


164 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


how. It is extremely interesting. I must remember 
to tell Tilly to note it in her journal.” 

In response to the signal, a head appeared at the 
casement, and a soft, sweet voice said: 

“Is that you, darling?” 

“Yes, yes, it is I,” replied Sir Bleoberis. “Oh, 
my love! my Ysolt!” he exclaimed, in an ecstasy. 

“Is Sir Baffin there, too?” 

“Yes. We are both here; and we have a swift 
boat. Come to me at once, dear love, that we may 
fly with you homeward.” 

“I am not quite ready, love,” replied Ysolt. “Will 
not you wait for a moment?” 

“It is important,” said the Professor, “that we 
should act quickly.” 

“But I must fix up my hair,” returned Ysolt. “I 
will hurry as much as I can.” 

“Women,” said the Professor to his companion, 
“are all alike. She would rather remain in prison 
for life than come out with her hair mussed.” 

The occupants of the boat waited very impatiently 
for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then Ysolt, coming 
again to the window, said: 

“Are you there, dearest?” 

“Yes,” replied Sir Bleoberis, eagerly. “We are 
all ready.” 

“And there’s no time to lose,” added Professor 
Baffin. 

“Is your hair fixed?” asked the Knight. 

“Oh, yes,” said Ysolt. 

“Then come right down.” 

“Would ten minutes more make any difference?” 
asked Ysolt. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


165 


“It might ruin us,” replied the Professor. 

“We can wait no longer, darling,” said Sir Bleo- 
beris, firmly. 

“Then you will have to go without me,” said 
Ysolt, with a tinge of bitterness. “It is simply 
impossible for me to come till I get my bundle 
packed.” 

“We will wait, then,” returned Sir Bleoberis, 
gloomily. Then he said to the Professor: “She had 
no bundle with her when she was captured.” 

The Professor, in silent desperation, banked his 
fires, threw open the furnace-door, and began to 
wonder what kind of chance he would have in the 
event of a boiler explosion. Blowing off steam, 
under the existing circumstances, was simply out of 
the question. 

After a delay of considerable duration, Ysolt’s 
voice was heard again: 

“Dearest!” 

“What, love?” asked Sir Bleoberis. 

“I am all ready now,” said Ysolt. 

“So are we.” 

“How must I get down?” 

“Climb through the window and jump. You 
will fall into the water, but I shall catch you and 
place you in the boat.” 

“But I shall get horridly wet!” 

“Of course; but, darling, that can make no great 
difference, so that you escape.” 

“And spoil my clothes, too!” 

“Yes, Ysolt, I know; but ” 

“I cannot do it; I am afraid.” And Ysolt began 
to cry. 


166 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Wild despair filled the heart of Sir Bleoberis. 

“I have a rope here,” said the Professor; “but 
how are we to get it up to her?” 

“Ysolt,” said Bleoberis, “if I throw you the end 
of a rope, do you think you can catch it?” 

“I will try.” 

Sir Bleoberis threw it. He threw it again. He 
threw it thirteen times, and then Ysolt contrived 
to catch it. 

“What shall I do with it now?” she asked. 

“Tie it fast to something; to the bed, or any- 
thing,” replied the Knight. 

“Now what shall I do?” asked the maiden, when 
she had made the rope secure. 

“Slide right down into the boat,” said the Pro- 
fessor. 

“It would ruin my hands,” said Ysolt, mournfully. 

“Make the attempt, and hold on tightly,” said 
Sir Bleoberis. 

“We shall be caught if we stay here much longer,” 
observed the Professor, with anxious thoughts of the 
boiler. 

“Good-bye then! I am lost. Go without me! 
Save yourselves! Oh, this is terrible!” Ysolt began 
again to cry. 

“I will help her,” said Sir Bleoberis, seizing the 
rope and clambering up the wall until he reached 
the window. 

Day began to dawn as he disappeared in the room. 
The Professor started his fire afresh and shut the 
furnace door. Sir Bleoberis, he knew, would bring 
down Ysolt without delay. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


167 


A moment later, the Knight seated himself upon 
the stone sill of the window and caught the rope 
with his feet and one of his hands. Then he placed 
his arm about Ysolt, lifted her out and began to 
descend. 

Professor Baffin, even in his condition of intense 
anxiety, could not fail to admire the physical 
strength of the Knight. When the pair were 
about half-way down, the rope broke, and Ysolt and 
Sir Bleoberis were plunged into the lake. 

The Professor, excited as he was by the accident, 
remembered the boiler, and determined that he 
would have to blow off steam and take the conse- 
quences; so he threw open the valve, and instantly 
the castle walls sent the fierce sound out over the 
waters. 

Sir Bleoberis, with Ysolt upon his arm, managed 
to swim to the side of the boat, and the Professor 
after a severe effort lifted her in. Then he gave 
his hand to the Knight, and as Sir Bleoberis’ foot 
touched the side the Professor shut off steam, opened 
his throttle-valve, backed the boat away from the 
wall, and started for the shore. 

It was now daylight. As the boat turned the 
comer of the wall, it almost came into collision with 
a boat in which, with ten oarsmen, sat Sir Dagonet. 
The inmates of the castle had been alarmed by the 
performances of the Professor’s escape-pipe; and Sir 
Dagonet had come out to ascertain the cause of the 
extraordinary noise. 

The Professor’s presence of mind was perfect. 
Turning his boat quickly to the right, he gave the 


168 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


engine a full head of steam and shot away before 
Sir Dagonet’s boat could stop its headway. 

Sir Dagonet had perceived Ysolt, and recognized 
Sir Bleoberis. White with rage he screamed to them 
to stop, and he hurled at them terrible threats of 
vengeance if he should overtake them. As no heed 
was given to him he urged his rowers to put forth 
their mightiest efforts, and soon his boat was in hot 
pursuit of that in which the maiden, the Knight, and 
the Professor fled away from him. 

By some means the people of the town of Callion 
had had their attention drawn to the proceedings at 
the castle, and now the shore was lined with specta- 
tors who watched with eager interest the race between 
Sir Dagonet’s boat and the wonderful craft which 
had neither oars nor sails, and which sent a long 
streamer of smoke from out its chimney. 

Professor Baffin, positively determined not to wed 
the daughter of Prince Sagramor, had prepared a 
stratagem. He had sent three horses to the side 
of the lake opposite to the town, and three or four 
miles distant from it, with the intention of landing 
there and hurrying with Ysolt and Sir Bleoberis to 
the home of Baron Bors, without the knowledge of 
the Prince. 

The daylight interfered, to some extent, with the 
promise of the plan, but Professor Baffin resolved 
to carry it out at any rate, taking what he considered 
to be the tolerably good chances of success. He 
turned the prow of his boat directly toward the 
town, making as if he would go thither. The pur- 
suers followed fast, and as the Professor perceived 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


169 


that he could easily outstrip them, he slowed his 
engine somewhat, permitting Sir Dagonet to gain 
upon him. 

When he was within a few hundred yards of the 
shore, close enough indeed for him to perceive that 
the King, Prince Sagramor, Bragwaine, and all the 
attendants of the court were among those who 
watched the race with excited interest, the Professor 
suddenly turned his boat half around, and putting 
the engine at its highest speed, ploughed swiftly 
toward the opposite shore. 

A mighty shout went up from the onlookers. 
Manifestly the fugitives had the sympathy of the 
crowd. 

The oarsmen of Sir Dagonet worked right val- 
iantly to win the chase, but the steamer gained con- 
stantly upon them; and when her keel grated upon 
the sand, close by where the horses stood, the pur- 
suers were at least a third of a mile behind. 

Sir Bleoberis sprang from the boat, and helped 
Ysolt to alight. The Professor stopped to make 
the fire in the furnace more brisk, and to tie down 
the safety valve; then hurrying after Sir Bleoberis 
and Ysolt, the three mounted their horses and gal- 
loped away. 

In a few moments they reached the top of a hill 
which commanded a view of the lake. They stopped 
and looked back. Sir Dagonet had just touched 
the shore, but, as he had no horse, further pursuit 
was useless. So, shaking his fist at the distant 
party, he turned away with an affectation of con- 
tempt, and entered the Professor’s boat to satisfy 
his curiosity respecting it. 


170 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“Let him be careful how he meddles with that,” 
said the Professor. 

As he spoke, the boat was torn to fragments. 
Sir Dagonet and two of his men were seen to fall, 
and a second afterwards the dull, heavy detonation 
of an explosion reached the ears of the Professor and 
his friends. 

“It is dreadful,” said the Professor with a sigh, 
“but self-preservation is the first law of nature, and 
then he had no right to run away with Ysolt, at 
any rate.” 


HOW THE PROFESSOR WENT HOME 

The three friends turned their horses’ heads away 
from the lake, and pressed swiftly along the road. 

“It is necessary,” said Professor Baffin, “that we 
should make good speed, for Prince Sagramor saw 
us come to this side of the lake, and if he shall suspect 
our design no doubt he will at once pursue us, in 
behalf of that abominable girl, his daughter.” 

The journey was made in silence during most of 
the time, for the hard riding rendered conversation 
exceedingly difficult, but whenever the party reached 
the crest of a hill which commanded a view of the 
road in the rear, the Professor looked anxiously 
behind him to ascertain if anybody was giving chase. 
When within a mile or two of Lonazep, he did at 
last perceive what appeared to be a group of horse- 
men at some distance behind him, and although he 
felt by no means certain that the Prince was among 
them, he nervously urged his companions forward, 
spurring, meantime, his own horse furiously, in the 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


171 


hope that he might reach the castle of Baron Bors 
ere he should be overtaken. 

As the party came within sight of the castle, they 
could hear the hoofs of the horses of the pursuers, 
and soon their ears were assailed by cries, demand- 
ing that they should stop. It was, indeed, Prince 
Sagramor and his knights, who were following fast. 
The Professor galloped more furiously than ever 
when he ascertained the truth, and Sir Bleoberis 
and Ysolt kept pace with him. 

Just as they reached the drawbridge, however, 
they were overtaken; and, as it was raised, they 
were compelled to stop and meet the Prince face to 
face. The Professor hurriedly called to the warder 
to lower the bridge, so that Ysolt could take refuge 
in the castle. Then he turned, and determined to 
make the best of the situation. The Prince was 
disposed to be conciliatory. 

“We came,” he said, “to escort you back again. 
We have a guard of honor here fitting for any 
bridegroom.” 

“You are uncommonly kind,” replied the Pro- 
fessor, “but the parade is rather unnecessary. I 
am not going back just at present.” 

“I promised Bragwaine that you would return 
with us,” said the Prince, sternly. 

“Well, you ought not to make rash promises,” 
replied the Professor, with firmness. 

“You will go, of course?” 

“Of course I will not go.” 

“Bragwaine is waiting for you.” 

“That,” said the Professor, “is a matter of per- 
fect indifference to me.” 


172 THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 

“I will not be trifled with, sir,” said the Prince, 
angrily. 

“Nor will I,” exclaimed the Professor. “Let us 
understand one another. I do not wish to marry 
any one. I did not ask your daughter to marry 
me, and I have never consented to the union. I tell 
you now that I positively and absolutely refuse to 
be forced to marry her or any other woman. I will 
do as I please about it; not as you please.” 

“Seize him,” shrieked the Prince to his attendants. 

“Stand off,” said the Professor, presenting his 
revolver. “I’ll kill the man who approaches me. 
I shall put up with this foolishness no longer.” 

One of the knights rode toward him. The Pro- 
fessor fired, and the cavalier’s horse rolled in the 
dust. The Prince and his people were stupefied with 
astonishment. 

At this juncture, Baron Bors, Sir Dinadan, Sir 
Agravaine, Sir Bleoberis, and Miss Baffin emerged 
from the castle. Miss Baffin flew to her father, 
and flung her arms about him. The Professor kissed 
her tenderly, and as he did so, his eye caught sight 
of the wire of the telephone which he had arranged 
for Ysolt and Sir Bleoberis. A happy thought struck 
him. Advancing, he said to the Prince: 

“It is useless for us to quarrel over this matter. 
Baron Bors has here an oracle. Let us consult that.” 

Then the Professor whispered something to Miss 
Baffin, who withdrew unobserved and went into the 
castle. 

The Prince was at first indisposed to condescend 
to accept the offer, but his curiosity finally overcame 
his pride. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


173 


“Step this way,” said the Professor. “Ask your 
questions through this,” handing him the mouth- 
piece, “and put this to your ear for the answer.” 

“What shall I say?” inquired the Prince. 

“Ask if it is right that I should marry your 
daughter.” 

The Prince put the question, and the answer came. 

“What does the oracle say?” asked the Professor. 

“It says you shall not,” replied the Prince, look- 
ing a good deal scared. 

“Are you satisfied?” said the Professor. 

The Prince did not answer, but he looked as if 
he suspected a trick of some kind, and would like 
to impale Professor Baffin with his lance, if he dared. 

He was about to turn away in disgust, when Sir 
Agravaine, who stood beside him, in a few half- 
whispered words explained to him the method by 
which the Professor had imposed upon him. 

In a raging fury, the Prince rode up to the Pro- 
fessor, and would have assailed him; but Baron 
Bors advanced and said: 

“This gentleman is unarmed, and unused to our 
methods of combat. He is my guest, and he has 
saved my daughter. I will fight his battles.” 

The Prince threw his glove at the Baron’s feet. 
Baron Bors called for his armor and his horse, and 
when he was ready he took his place opposite to 
his antagonist, and waited the signal for the contest. 

“This,” said the Professor, “is probably the most 
asinine proceeding upon record. Because I won’t 
marry Sagramor’s daughter, Sagramor is going to 
fight with a man who never saw his daughter.” 


174 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


The combat was not a long one. At the first 
shock both knights were unhorsed; but, drawing 
their swords, they rushed together and hacked at 
each other until the sparks flew in showers from their 
armor. 

The Baron fought well, but presently the Prince’s 
sword struck his shoulder with a blow which carried 
the blade down through the steel plate, and caused 
the blood to spurt forth. The Baron fell to the 
earth; and Prince Sagramor, remembering the small 
number of his attendants, and the probability that 
he might be assailed by the Baron’s people, mounted 
his horse and slowly trotted away without deigning 
to look at Professor Baffin. They carried the Baron 
tenderly into the' castle and put him to bed. The 
wound was a terrible one, and the Professor perceived 
that the chances of his recovery, under the rude 
medical treatment that could be obtained, were not 
very favorable. After doing what he could to help 
the sufferer, he withdrew from the room, and left 
the Baron with Lady Bors and the medical prac- 
titioner who was ordinarily employed by the family. 

Miss Baffin, with Sir Dinadan, awaited her father 
in the hall. This was the first opportunity he had 
had to greet her. After some preliminary conver- 
sation, and after the Professor had expressed to Sir 
Dinadan his regret that the Baron should have been 
injured, the Professor said: 

“And now, Tilly, my love, how have you been 
employing yourself during my absence?” 

Miss Baffin blushed. 

“Have you kept the journal regularly?” asked the 
Professor. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


175 


“Not so very regularly/’ replied Miss Baffin. 

“I have a number of interesting and extraordinary 
things for you to record,” said the Professor. “Has 
nothing of a remarkable character happened here 
during my absence?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Baffin. 

“I have learned to smoke,” said Sir Dinadan. 

“Indeed,” said the Professor with a slight pang. 
“And how many cigars have you smoked?” 

“Only one,” replied the Knight. “It made me 
ill for two days. I think, perhaps, I shall give up 
smoking.” 

“I would advise you to. It is a bad habit,” said 
the Professor, “and expensive. And then, you 
know, cigars are so dreadfully scarce, too.” 

“The Lady Tilly was very kind to me while I 
was ill. I believe I was delirious once or twice; and 
I was so touched by her sweet patience that I again 
proposed to her.” 

“While you were delirious?” asked the Professor. 

“Oh, no; when I had recovered.” 

“What did you say to that, Tilly?” asked Pro- 
fessor Baffin. 

“I referred him to you,” replied Miss Baffin. 

“But what will the Baron say?” asked the Pro- 
fessor. 

“He and my mother have given their consent,” 
said Sir Dinadan. “They declared that I could not 
have pleased them better than by making such a 
choice.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” said the Professor, reflec- 
tively. “I like you first rate, and if I felt certain 
we were going to stay here ” 


176 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


“I will go with you if you leave the island/’ said 
Sir Dinadan, eagerly. 

“And then you know, Din/’ continued the Pro- 
fessor familiarly, “Tilly is highly educated, while 
you — Well, you know you must learn to read, and 
write, and cipher, the very first thing.” 

“I have been giving him lessons while you were 
away,” said Miss Baffin. 

“How does he get along?” 

“Quite well. He can do short division with a 
little help, and he has learned as far as the eighth 
line in the multiplication table.” 

“Eight eights are sixty-four, eight nines are seventy- 
two, eight tens are eighty,” said Sir Dinadan, tri- 
umphantly. 

“Well,” said the Professor, “if Tilly loves you, 
and you love Tilly, I shall make no objection.” 

“Oh, thank you,” exclaimed both of the lovers. 

“But, I tell you what, Din, you are getting a good 
bargain. There is no finer girl, or a smarter one 
either, on the globe. You people here cannot half 
appreciate her.” 

For more than a week, Baron Bors failed to show 
any signs of improvement, and the Professor thought 
he perceived clearly that his case was fast getting 
beyond hope. He deemed it prudent, however, to 
keep his opinion from the members of the Baron’s 
family. But the Baron himself soon reached the 
same conclusion, and one day Lady Bors came out 
of his room to summon Sir Dinadan, Ysolt, Sir Bleo- 
beris, who was now formally betrothed to Ysolt, and 
the Professor, to the Baron’s bedside. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


177 


The Baron said to them, in a feeble voice, that 
he felt his end approaching, and that he desired to 
give some instructions, and to say farewell to his 
family. Then he addressed himself first to Sir Dina- 
dan, and next to Ysolt. When he had finished speak- 
ing to them he said to Lady Bors: 

“And now, Ettard, a final word to you. I am 
going away, and you will need another friend, pro- 
tector, companion, husband. Have you ever thought 
of any one whom you should like, other than me?” 

“Never, never, never,” said Lady Bors, sobbing. 

“Let me advise you, then. Who would be more 
likely to fill my place in your heart acceptably than 
our good and wise and wonderful friend, Sir Baffin ?” 

“Good gracious !” exclaimed the Professor with 
a start. , 

“Your son is to marry his daughter; and she 
will be happy to be here with him in the castle. 
Premise me that you will try to love him.” 

“Yes, I will try,” said Lady Bors, wiping her eyes 
and seeming, upon the whole, rather more cheerful. 

“That,” said the Baron, “does not altogether 
satisfy me. I place upon you my command that 
you shall marry him. Will you consent to obey?” 

“I will consent to anything, so that your last 
hour may be happier,” said Lady Bors with an air 
of resignation. She was supported during the trial, 
perhaps, by the reflection that in dealing with lum- 
bago Professor Baffin had no superior in the kingdom. 

Father Anselm was announced. “Withdraw, now,” 
said the Baron to all of his family but Lady Bors. 
“I must SDeak with the Hermit.” 


12 


178 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


Professor Baffin encountered the Hermit at the 
door. The holy man stopped long enough to say 
that a huge ship had come near to the shore upon 
which the Professor had landed, and that it was 
anchored there. From its mast, Father Anselm said, 
fluttered a banner of red and white stripes with a 
starry field of blue. 

The Professor’s heart beat fast. For a moment 
he could hardly control his emotion. He resolved 
to go at once to the shore and to take his daughter 
with him. Withdrawing her from her companions 
the two strolled slowly out from the castle into the 
park. Then, hastening their steps, they passed 
towards the shore. In a few moments they reached 
it, and there, sure enough, they saw a barque at 
anchor, while from her mast-head floated the Amer- 
ican flag. 

A boat belonging to the barque had come to the 
shore to obtain water from the stream. Professor 
Baffin entered into conversation with the officer 
who commanded the boat. The vessel proved to 
be the “Mary L. Simpson,” of Martha’s Vineyard, 
bound from the Azores to New York. When the 
Professor had explained to the officer that he and 
his daughter were Americans, the mate invited them 
to come aboard so that he could introduce them to 
the captain. 

“Shall we go, my child?” asked the Professor. 

“If we can return in a very few moments, we 
might go,” said Miss Baffin. 

They entered the boat, and when they reached 
the vessel, they were warmly greeted by Captain 
Magruder. 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


179 


While they were talking with him in his cabin 
the air suddenly darkened, and the captain rushed 
out upon deck. Almost before he reached it a ter- 
rific gale struck the barque, and she began to drag 
her anchors. Fortunately the wind blew off shore, 
and the captain, weighing anchor, let the barque 
drive right out to sea. The Professor was about to 
remark to Miss Baffin that he feared there was small 
chance of his ever seeing the island again, when a 
lurch of the vessel threw him over. His head struck 
the sharp corner of the captain’s chest, and he be- 
came unconscious. 

When Professor Baffin regained his senses, he 
found that he was lying in a berth in a ship’s cabin. 
Some one was sitting beside him. 

“Is that you, Tilly?” he asked, in a faint voice. 

“Yes, pa; I am glad you are conscious again. 
Can I give you anything?” 

“Have I been long unconscious, Tilly?” 

“tou have been very ill for several days; deliri- 
ous sometimes.” 

“Is the captain going back to the island?” 

“Going back to the what , pa?” 

“To the island. It must have seemed dreadfully 
heartless for us to leave the castle while the Baron 
was dying.” 

“While the Baron was dying! What do you 
mean?” 

“Why, Baron Bors could not have lived much 
longer. I am afraid Sir Dinadan will think hard 
of us.” 

“I haven’t the least idea what you are talking 


180 


THE FORTUNATE ISLAND 


about. Poor pa! your mind is beginning to wander 
again. Turn over, and try to go to sleep.” 

Professor Baffin was silent for a moment. Then 
he said: 

“Tilly, do you mean to say you never heard of 
Baron Bors?” 

“Never.” 

“And that you were never engaged to Sir Dina- 
dan?” 

“Pa, how absurd! Who are these people?” 

“Were you not upon the island with me, at the 
castle?” 

“How could we have gone upon an island, pa, 
when we were taken from the raft by the ship?” 

“Tilly, my child, when I get perfectly well I shall 
have to tell you of the most extraordinary series of 
circumstances that has come under my observation 
during the whole course of my existence!” 

Then Professor Baffin closed his eyes and fell into 
a doze, and Miss Baffin went up to tell the surgeon 
of the ship “Undine,” from Philadelphia to Glasgow, 
that her father seemed to be getting better, j 


VII 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN IN MERI- 
WEATHER COUNTY 

I HAVE no objection (writes William Percival 
Latimer to me, from a remote mining camp in 
Mexico) to giving to you the whole story of my 
unfortunate experience as a participant in the Reform 
campaign in Meriweather County. My fate may 
perhaps serve as a warning to others, and, at any rate, 
I am entitled to have my version of this painful, and, 
in one sense shameful, case presented to the public. 

You have known me for many years. I need not 
tell you that I have never participated in nor had any 
taste for public affairs. I have had no acquaintance 
with'£>olitics but in a general way. I have not coveted 
office. I am a quiet, retiring, I fear shy, man, used to 
devoting my time to my work in the Rubicon National 
Bank, to my church, my family and my somewhat 
narrow social duties. I have never been able to 
speak while upon my feet, excepting before my Sun- 
day-school and at the ordinary church meetings, and 
I shrink so much from publicity that I have always 
felt a kind of nervous shock if my name happened to 
appear in a newspaper. 

When the reform movement was begun in Meri- 
weather County, McWhirr, the county chairman, 
came to me and informed me that the Colonel, who 
really directed the affairs of the Reform party, in- 
( 181 ) 


182 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


sisted that I should be placed upon the ticket as can- 
didate for the position of Supervisor of Fences and 
Telegraph Poles. He said that the Colonel, who was 
to be the nominee for Sheriff, would represent brains 
whilst I should represent respectability. I indicated 
to Me Whirr that there was but half a compliment, 
and that of a cloudy character, imbedded in this 
proposition, and then I said that the Colonel, with 
his record and reputation, seemed to me to be a queer 
personage to direct a Reform campaign. 

McWhirr said that the Colonel had been thoroughly 
reformed before he was permitted to engage in the 
movement; that he was a changed man. “The 
fundamental principle of fair play,” continued' Mc- 
Whirr, “is that repentance must be accepted as oblit- 
erating the past,” and the Colonel’s very familiarity 
with the evil practices of politicians made his ser- 
vices invaluable to reformers who were proposing to 
defeat the politicians. “Would you shut the gates 
of mercy upon a penitent sinner?” he asked; and 
when I said that I should hesitate to engage in such 
a proceeding he answered: “Very well, then, give 
the Colonel a chance.” 

When I urged that I did not want any public office, 
and, indeed, could not accept this particular place 
if I should be elected, McWhirr assured me that I 
need not worry about that. “It is a part of our 
scheme,” he said, “to defeat you. The Colonel’s 
plans work out that way. He’s as level-headed as 
they make ’em, I tell you! Far-sighted and keen! 
That man’s just a wonder.” 

Then, of course, I insisted that I could not per- 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


183 


ceive how the sacred cause of Reform was to be pro- 
moted by defeat of the Reform candidates, but Mc- 
Whirr said: “That’s because you’ve never been in 
politics. It’s the Colonel’s game. If you want 
subtlety, there you have it. That man is deep! You 
don’t want to be elected? Very well. The Colonel 
puts you up, knocks you down, and with you as the 
sacrifice, sweeps all the rest of the ticket to glorious 
victory.” 

Well, you can believe that this kind of talk did not 
go far to reassure me, but McWhirr stayed for an 
hour or more, and talked and argued. At last he 
half-convinced me that the very foundations of the 
Republic were undermined, and that if I wouldn’t 
consent to run on the Reform ticket for the Super- 
visorship of Fences and Telegraph Poles our institu- 
tions would totter to their ruin and the whole sacred 
heritage of the Fathers would be swept to irretrievable 
destruction. You know the result. I was weak 
enough to yield. 

My misgivings were to some extent removed by 
my wife, who, when McWhirr had gone back to report 
to the Colonel, assured me that I had done my duty. 
“You had no right,” she said, “to refuse such a nomi- 
nation. It is the duty of every citizen to try to save 
his country. Your fellow-citizens summon you to 
their service; and, like Cincinnatus of old, you relin- 
quish the handles of your plough and obey the call.” 

Poor woman! She meant well by that allusion 
to Cincinnatus, and I must say that it comforted and 
encouraged me to some extent, but Cincinnatus, I 
am nearly certain (I don’t remember the particulars 


184 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


of his entire case), never ran on the same ticket with 
a man like the Colonel. 

The Colonel began the campaign with vigor. On 
the night of the day of the adjournment of the con- 
vention he had the brass band from Angel Bluffs 
up to serenade me. The band paraded all about 
Rubicon, playing in a most vehement manner. Mc- 
Whirr, who called on me early, said I ought to have 
refreshments of some kind on my front porch for the 
visitors; and so, when the band had played until 
every one of my neighbors had become the malevolent 
enemy of the Reform movement, Mrs. Latimer invited 
the musicians to partake of ice cream and cake. It 
was clear enough that there was disappointment at 
the nature of the refreshments, and the snare-drummer 
was openly ribald. I suspect him of connection with 
the disappearance of two of our spoons. 

The fat German who played the saxophone drew 
me into the hallway and told me plainly that the 
cause of Reform was lost if ice cream was as far as 
my moral principles would permit me to go. Then 
he asked me to go with him into the library where, 
after closing the door and pulling down the window 
shades, he whispered that he recognized me. I said 
to him that I did not understand him; and he then 
said he knew my real name was Obermann, that I was 
a native of Eichenberg, Germany, where I still owed 
four dollars to his father, a shoemaker, in that town. 
He said I had fled to avoid military service, but that 
he would not give me away because he had left Ger- 
many under queer circumstances himself, and two 
dollars and a quarter would close his lips forever. 



The Band from Angel Bluffs 






































i H 



THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


185 


Then the band stood out on the front grass plot 
and played Columbia the Gem of the Ocean, the Ger- 
man saxophone player staring fixedly at me and wink- 
ing at me whenever he came to a minim rest. The 
band could be heard all through the night in various 
parts of Rubicon extinguishing the enthusiasm for 
Reform by original and reckless interpretations of 
popular selections. 

McWhirr said, when he met me at the bank, that he 
feared the thing had not been a large success; that 
ice cream was hardly the right material for imparting 
fervor to political enthusiasm, and that my very 
unfortunate manner had given offense to the snare- 
drummer, who controlled thirty-four votes in his 
precinct. I offered to resign, but McWhirr said: 
“Not on your life; the Colonel will fix that fellow.” 
Then McWhirr asked if I would not go over to Swish- 
er’s Comers on Wednesday evening to meet the 
0’Flaherty_Club and give a chalk-talk, something 
like those I gave in Sunday-school. He thought 
if I could take for my subject the well-known fact 
that the Regulars were trying to steal the peniten- 
tiary for a club house for the Y oung Men’s Invincible 
Club I could strike a telling blow for the glorious 
cause. But I insisted upon refusal, because I never 
saw a man trying to steal a penitentiary and I could 
not imagine how to draw such an institution on a 
blackboard. 

I pass over many painful things. I looked for them, 
of course, but I hardly thought the Susanville Times 
would be so indecent as to suggest that I gave my 
baby ipecac to check its appetite. It cut me to the 


186 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


heart. The Rubicon Post had always been a favorite 
in my family and I used it whenever we wished to 
advertise for a hired girl. It was, therefore, with 
feelings of indignation and dismay that I found in 
it one morning a cartoon representing me as a monkey 
with a horrible grin upon my face, hanging by a long, 
curly tail from the limb of a tree while I tossed cocoa- 
nuts down to the Colonel. I hid the paper from my 
wife to save her from pain, but when the children 
came home to lunch I felt that they had seen it. My 
oldest boy looked queerly at me all through the meal, 
laughing in a strange way from time to time, and at 
last his manner became so disrespectful and set such 
a bad example to his younger brothers that I called 
him into the pantry, cuffed him severely, and sent 
him off to his grandmother’s to stay for a week. 

Much is to be said for a free press, I know, but it 
seems to me that many of the newspapers are mere 
instruments for debauching the public conscience. 
There would be a censorship, if I had my way. 

Of the delegations that visited me to obtain a defini- 
tion of my principles upon various subjects I shall 
not attempt to speak at length. I may, however, 
allude to the embarrassment to which I was sub- 
jected by the committee sent to see me by the Vege- 
tarian Society of Honey Creek. Without commit- 
ting myself in set terms to the doctrine of the rejec- 
tion of all animal food, I spoke in language of warm 
eulogy of the well-known refining effect of vegetable 
food, and I even went so far as to intimate that the 
slaughter of spring lambs had always appealed 
strongly to my tenderest feelings. 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


187 


Some of the members of the committee seemed to 
consider me sound, if I could judge by the smiles 
upon their faces, but the chairman looked sternly 
at me, and with the air of a man who is not to be 
deceived by soft words demanded if I ranged myself 
with the Undergrounds or the Abovegrounds? 

In casting about for an explanation of his meaning 
I learned from the whispers of a friendly member 
of the delegation that the Vegetarians who favor 
potatoes and other subterranean products are regarded 
with scorn and hatred by the Vegetarians who approve 
only of tomatoes and peas. The theory, I think, 
is that the vegetables of the subsoil appeal only to 
the lower nature, while those that grow in the sun- 
shine tend to make men more spiritual. It was a 
dilemma, for how could I tell which theory found 
favor in Honey Creek? So I tried to compromise 
the matter by dwelling at some length upon the up- 
lifting influence of celery, which, I belive, is first 
grown in the air and then buried in the soil. 

But the chairman saw through the attempt and, 
shaking his forefinger at me, said plainly that I was 
evading the question and that the committee would 
report against me. Talk, he said, was useless in face 
of the fact that he had seen the butcher carrying a 
sirloin steak into my kitchen as the committee came 
through my front gate. Honey Creek, he declared, as 
he put on his hat and headed the delegation toward 
the door, would know how to deal at the polls with a 
candidate who added duplicity to ferocious thirst 
for the blood of inoffensive beasts, “ whose lives, I 
want to tell you/' he said, nodding his head at me in 
a menacing manner, “are just as precious as yours.” 


188 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


The next evening I had a visit from a delegation 
representing the Anti-Virus Association of Polo. 
The purpose of the coming of these gentlemen was 
to ascertain if I favored compulsory vaccination. 
Really, you know, I had given no thought at all to 
the subject, and I cared nothing about it, one way or 
another. “ Because if you do,” said the chairman, 
who watched me narrowly while I silently reflected 
upon his question, quite uncertain how to frame a 
judicious answer, “we demand to know if you are or 
are not prepared to insist upon vaccine material 
direct from the cow?” 

This was even more perplexing, and so at length 
I said that as a matter of fact I had never examined 
the authorities upon the matter, and must confess 
my inability to reach thoroughly sound conclusions. 
For one thing, I was not aware of the precise relation 
of the cow to the operation of vaccination, but if the 
direct-from-the-cow plan was, upon the whole, thought 
by trained scientific minds to be the safest and best, 
why, of course, I was willing to commit myself unre- 
servedly to it. 

The chairman said that he was prepared, in dealing 
with a politician, to have an attempt at shuffling, but 
as an educated man I certainly knew that the word 
vaccination was derived from Vaccinus, a cow, show- 
ing the closest possible relation of the two things, and 
he gave me warning now that the Anti-Virus Asso- 
ciation of Polo was ready to pour money into Meri- 
weather County to defeat any candidate whose views 
upon this vitally important subject were of a ques- 
tionable character, and, in his opinion, mine were. 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


189 


When I asked him if he would be good enough to 
explain to me what this matter had to do with the 
duties of a Supervisor of Fences and Telegraph Poles, 
he answered quite rudely: “It has a heap to do with 
it. Don’t cows break down fences and rub them- 
selves against telegraph poles? We’ll show you over 
at Polo, when the votes are counted, what it has to 
do with it.” 

As the delegation began to withdraw I thought 
to restore good feeling and to close the incident hap- 
pily by mentioning that I did not care for office; but, 
as Mrs. Latimer had very felicitously suggested, I 
had consented at the urgent solicitation of my 
countrymen to act along the lines of the well-known 
historical precedent established by Cincinnatus. 

But the chairman, turning upon me fiercely, said 
that what was done in Cincinnati was one thing and 
what was done in Meriweather County was another 
thing. He spoke for nothing but Polo and cow- 
virus, and he meant just what he said. 

Then he slammed the front door and a moment 
later closed the front gate with even greater violence. 

Me Whirr walked home from the post-office with 
me on the next afternoon and seemed much depressed. 
He said: “If you go on this way you’ll wreck the 
whole thing. I count Polo and Honey Creek as 
good as lost after the way I hear you handled those 
two delegations yesterday. Of course they are cranks, 
but they have votes, and if you only could show 
some little versatility in adapting yourself to the 
vagaries of these people. Have you no acquaintance 
with human nature?” 


190 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


“But,” I said to him, “why not let it go to wreck? 
That’s what we want. You said yourself you wanted 
me to be defeated.” 

“Now look here, Latimer,” he said angrily, “you’re 
a candidate in the hands of the Colonel, and if you 
meddle with his plans and try to play politics on 
your own account the first thing you know you’ll 
be in the worst kind of trouble. Mind what I tell 
you. I wish we had never put you up.” I said I 
wished so, too. 

“The Colonel says if he had it to do over again he’d 
give you the go-by and nominate an old settler. The 
old settlers are getting restless because they’re not 
recognized. I wish to gracious you were one, or 
else a wiser man.” 

I was about to offer a dismal sort of pleasantry 
to the effect that it was useless for a man at my 
time of life even to begin to try to become an old set- 
tler, but McWhirr brushed it aside in a disagreeable 
manner and said he would send Moriarty up to see 
me tomorrow evening to give me some kind of drill 
in practical politics. Moriarty, he assured me, was 
past master in the business, and perhaps even I could 
learn from him some of the elementary principles 
of the thing. 

So Moriarty came. He was a big ruffian who 
towered above me in my parlor and looked down upon 
me, making me feel smaller than I really am. I 
have tried not to hate that man. He addressed me 
as sonny, and almost the first question he asked me 
was if I was fly. I hardly knew how to talk to a 
man of that kind; I was so much embarrassed that 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


191 


just for the sake of saying something I mentioned 
that Mrs. Latimer had recalled an incident in the life 
of Cincinnatus as having some resemblance to my 
embarkation in the campaign for Reform. What 
do you think he answered? “Reform nit!” Extraor- 
dinary, wasn’t it? 

Moriarty, however, went on to say that McWhirr 
told him I was aslush-and-mush man with a mud head 
and no sand in my holder, “but I can see at a glance,” 
he said, “that you’re one of us. I’d know you any- 
wheres for a sundowner. What we’re going to do is 
to give the Regulars hot stuff by the ladleful, and when 
I get at ’em you take notice that you’ll hear ’em 
gurgle; mark me!” 

I interrupted him to say that if he had any sug- 
gestions to make for my personal line of action I 
was willing to hear them. But he replied to the 
effect that my best hold was to give him plenty of 
dough and then go off by myself and saw wood. I 
never could understand slang, so even when he asked 
me if I had any long green in my clothes his design 
was not clear to me. But at last he made it plain 
that he wanted money, and I gathered that he wished 
to use it for corrupt purposes. I told him flatly 
that I would not give him a dollar. 

Then the ruffian became enraged, shook his fist 
at me and said I was a sawduster and ought to go 
and play dolls with real baby clothes, instead of 
trying to play politics. 

I ordered him to quit the house, but he jumped 
at me so that I was compelled to retreat behind the 
sofa. He roared out that he knew I was a defaulter 


192 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


at the bank and he had the written confession of my 
pal, and then he said, “You’ll do time, young feller, 
before I quit you. You’ll hear yourself sizzle on the 
iron bars. I’ll jot you down in my diary,” he said. 

You know how helpless a small man is with a gigan- 
tic brigand like this, and so I slipped from the shelter 
of the sofa and ran upstairs, leaving the parlor at the 
mercy of the scoundrel. As I passed through the 
doorway I heard him say that I was a snoozer. 

I was really afraid the fellow would plot some harm 
to me or to my family, and I told McWhirr so when 
I saw him in the morning; but McWhirr looked 
gloomy and said that if my nomination papers hadn’t 
been filed with the Secretary of the Commonwealth 
he would insist upon my getting off the ticket before 
I offended with my strange conduct any other devoted 
adherents of the cause. However, said McWhirr, 
we just have to make the best of a bad job; and then 
he said that if I couldn’t do anything for the cause 
myself perhaps some of my friends could, and would 
I ask some of the young men in my Sunday-school 
class to attend a mass meeting of the Regulars in 
Maginnis Hall and sit on the front benches and howl 
down the speakers. “Every little helps,” he said. 

Mrs. Latimer, in reflecting upon this really indecent 
suggestion, said she never before fully realized the 
wickedness of politics. 

On the following Tuesday afternoon the express 
man dumped upon my front porch a box of strange 
appearance. It was made of wood, with strips of 
muslin glued along the edges and with a bit of string 
hanging from a hole in the lid. I was not expecting 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


193 


anything to come to me by express, and while I stood 
there looking at the box, thus strangely prepared, 
I wondered what it could be. 

When Mrs. Latimer came out she reminded me of 
the threats of Moriarty and said she was sure it was 
an infernal machine. An instant later she darted 
into the hall, bolted the door with queer thought- 
lessness of the peril in which she left her husband, 
and flew upstairs, where she buried herself in the 
bedclothes. I forgave her freely, for I felt that she 
was unnerved. Nor could I blame her for having 
fear, for Moriarty was capable of anything, and I 
had heard McWhirr himself say that if you can assas- 
sinate a candidate it sometimes helps the cause, for 
you get rid of the man you don’t want and you make 
votes by fastening the crime on the enemy. “The 
blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church,” 
McWhirr said to me with his own lips, in speaking of 
just such a case out in Arizona. 

As a matter of philosophy this, no doubt, is per- 
fectly sound, but I am an unaspiring man, with no 
longings for the honors of martyrdom and, besides, 
I have a wife and children, with not a dollar of insur- 
ance on my life, and my house was burdened with a 
small mortgage. 

I had an impulse to fly down the street, leaving the 
box lying there, but that seemed cowardly. Suppose 
it should be exploded by clockwork, blowing Mrs. 
Latimer to atoms and reducing the house to splin- 
ters and the mortgage to waste-paper? The thought 
was intolerable. I walked around to the back of 
the house and got the garden-hose. Fastening it 


13 


194 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


to the spigot I turned a stream of water into that 
wicked-looking box, determined to saturate it until 
explosives should be made harmless. While I was 
engaged in this work our policeman, Barker, came 
by and I called him in. When I had explained to 
him the nature of my fears respecting the box he 
looked grave and said: 

“Very likely, Mr. Latimer. It looks like an infer- 
nal machine, don’t it? The Regulars are bilin’ mad 
at you and there’s no knowin’ what they’ll do.” 

“I think the best thing to do,” I said, “would be 
for the police authorities to investigate it. Suppose 
you take it down to the station house?” 

Barker walked around the box four or five times, 
looking closely at it, and then he said he thought 
he heard wheels going around inside. I was sure he 
was mistaken. Then he proposed that we touch 
a match to the end of the string and run. This seemed 
to me to be mere madness. Barker said he wasn’t 
afraid of the thing but, if he carried it, it would wet 
his uniform and that was against the regulations. 
I proposed a wheelbarrow, but he asked me if I didn’t 
know that to jolt dynamite would be to blow us 
both into eternity. Finally he said that if the job 
was worth seventy-five cents to me, and I would 
take care of the orphans if there should be an explo- 
sion, he thought he knew a man who would take the 
risk of carrying it off. I gave him the money and 
promised to look after the children who should be 
deprived of their parent by an accident to the box, 
and then I urged him to go and find the man at once. 
Barker put the silver in his pocket, walked around 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


195 


the box twice more, then picked it up and, holding 
it away from him, walked rapidly to the station 
house. 

I called Mrs. Latimer and we stood upon the porch, 
waiting to hear the explosion. In twenty minutes 
Barker returned with sunshine upon his face and 
handed me a wet letter, the ink upon which had run 
in such a manner that I could read the contents with 
difficulty. It was from the Corresponding Secre- 
tary of the Woman’s Rights Association of Happy 
Hollow, saying that the Society, recognizing the 
fact that my candidacy was a tribute to, as my election 
would be a victory for, the cause of Woman Suf- 
frage, begged me to accept with its warmest con- 
gratulations the eight pounds of caramels sent in 
the box with this letter. 

As I folded the letter, Mrs. Latimer, whose fears, 
of course, had been completely removed, asked Police- 
man Barker where the caramels were. “Sp’iled, 
ma’m. Sp’iled by Mr. Latimer squirtin’ the hose 
on ’em.” But, in truth, I noticed chocolate-stains 
about the comers of Barker’s mouth, and he had a 
guilty look wholly foreign to his usually honest and 
open countenance. 

Unfortunately the news of this incident got about 
and created much amusement, and McWhirr, with 
the air of a man from whose soul Hope has forever 
fled, said that if he didn’t know positively I was a 
square man he would actually believe the Regulars 
had bribed me to work against the Reform ticket. 
Despair was in every tone of his voice, and he said 
the Colonel was publicly using language about me 
that was not fit to print. 


196 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


But there is no use in prolonging the narrative 
of the events of the campaign. Election day came 
and passed, and all the candidates on the Reform 
ticket were defeated but the Colonel and me. The 
Colonel had 1457 majority and I was elected by four 
votes. 

The result seemed to me strarge. McWhirr ex- 
plained that the Colonel had done the biggest job 
in trading that he ever heard of. But my election 
was a serious matter. He said I was the last man 
he ever should have suspected of doing crooked work. 
I asked him what he meant. He answered that he 
thought I hadn’t wanted the office, and why I should 
take any chances of criminal prosecution for a place 
that was worth only three hundred dollars a year, and 
I to find my own horse and buggy, was beyond him. 
The fraudulent voting had been awful. The Colonel 
had declared he never saw anything like it even in 
his experience. “ Queer,” said McWhirr, “how a 
man always goes so far in his first step from the 
paths of rectitude. There’s trouble ahead for you, 
Latimer. You know I told you politics was a 
dangerous thing to fool with.” 

When the Colonel sent for me I went down to his 
headquarters at the Eagle Hotel. He had with him 
the defeated Regular candidate for Sheriff. The Col- 
onel had just made this man his first deputy. 

“My plans,” said the Colonel, “slipped a cog, 
somehow or other. I had laid it out to beat you. 
You voted for yourself, of course, but some of your 
friends must have done lively work. I hear queer 
stories about your Sunday-school class.” 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


197 


I asked him to explain himself, and then he said 
he had been conducting a Reform campaign and had 
to be careful. He was willing to pass this thing of 
mine by unless the opposition took it into the courts. 
But Dixon, the Regular chairman, was furious, and 
it might be necessary to throw him a victim. 

He said he would see Dixon. 

This was on Wednesday. On Thursday Moriarty 
and seven other ruffians, most of them from Susan- 
ville, were arrested for repeating. In the magis- 
trate’s office they all swore they were members of 
Latimer’s Sunday-school class and that I had hired 
them to do the work. Moriarty said that I first 
made the proposition after the lesson on the preceding 
Sunday, and that he was so much shocked that he 
completely lost his presence of mind. 

You know how news of that kind flies about in a 
small town. My pastor called the same evening and 
after speaking with deep feeling about the demoral- 
izing influence of greed for office, and about the awful 
example to my children, he said to me, “Go away 
somewhere dear friend, and try to live down your 
past.” 

The fat German who played the saxophone also 
came to the kitchen door and urged me to return 
to Germany. He said he knew his father would for- 
give the four dollars; he would write to him about it; 
and he would ask his father to give me lessons on the 
saxophone so that I could join a German band and 
begin my life over again. 

Mrs. Latimer, whose distress was of the most 
dreadful character, insisted that I should take legal 
advice and so I called in Major Wilson. 


198 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


The Major, after examining the case, said he con- 
sidered the situation grave. “Whichever way you 
look at it,” urged he, “you must lose. If you make 
an unsuccessful defense against the charge that you 
instigated your Sunday-school class to stuff the 
ballot-boxes with fraudulent votes (and I don’t see 
how you can overthrow the testimony of Moriarty) 
you go to prison. If you prove that you are not 
guilty, you will have to accept the office to which you 
were elected or go to prison. The law gives you no 
option. If you accept the office you give up a $2500 
place for a $300 place and you are a ruined man. 
Your mortgage will be foreclosed in three days. So 
there you are. It is a bad job. I don’t think I ever 
handled a tougher problem than how to keep you 
from incarceration or from financial ruin.” 

He said he hated to suggest separation from my 
family, but, as my friend as well as my counsel, he 
inclined to believe the easiest solution to the difficulty 
was for me to get away quietly in the night, and in 
some distant clime, where I was not known, to try to 
struggle to my feet again. 

I asked him if he didn’t think this was pretty hard 
for a man whose sole motive for appearing in public 
life was that which had animated Cincinnatus, namely, 
a desire to serve his fellow-countrymen? 

But the Major said the cases were different; times 
had changed; Cincinnatus, in his view, was rather a 
shady character anyhow, and even supposing him 
to have been all right, things nowadays didn’t work 
as they used to. The Major said he had no money to 
lend, but if I was short of traveling expenses he would 


THE REFORM CAMPAIGN 


199 


take my house off my hands for spot cash, which 
he could borrow. 

I had better act quickly, because as he came up the 
street he heard that the directors of the bank had 
experts at work on my books, looking up evidence of 
a possible shortage; and the president told him yes- 
terday that, no matter what the examination showed, 
they were determined to sever my connection with 
the bank, because it was unsafe for a financial insti- 
tution to have an employee concerning whom such 
ugly rumors were in circulation. 

And so here I am, down in this remote Mexican 
miningJ:own, keeping books for the Turalura Silver 
Mining Company, my reputation blasted, my home 
broken up, and I an exile from my native land. Not 
that I care so much for exile, for the Republic is lost 
beyond hope. The Colonel and Me Whirr will kill 
it if nobody else does. I shall try to keep out of 
politics here. But I do wish you would look up a 
matter for me. What are the exact facts, anyway, 
about Cincinnatus? 


VIII 


AN OLD FOGY 

iif I ^HE good old times! And the old times 
were good, my dear; better, much better, 
than the times that you live in. I know I 
am an old fogy, Nelly,” said Ephraim Batterby, 
refilling his pipe, and looking at his granddaughter, 
who sat with him in front of the fire, with her head 
bending over her sewing; “I know I am an old 
fogy, and I glory in it.” 

“But you never will be for me, Grandpa,” said 
Nelly, glancing at him with a smile. 

“Yes, my dear, I am for everybody. I am a 
man of the past. Everything I ever cared for and 
ever loved, excepting you, belongs to the years that 
have gone, and my affections belong to those years. 
I liked the people of the old time better than I do 
those of the new. I loved their simpler ways, the 
ways that I knew in my boyhood, threescore and 
more years ago. I am sure the world is not so good 
as it was then. It is smarter, perhaps; it knows 
more, but its wisdom vexes and disgusts me. I am 
not certain, my dear, that, if I had my way, I would 
not sweep away, at one stroke, all the so-called 
‘modern conveniences/ and return to the ancient 
methods.” 

“They were very slow, Grandpa.” 

“Yes, slow; and for that I liked them, We go 
( 200 ) 


AN OLD FOGY 


201 


too fast now; but our speed, I am afraid, is hurry- 
ing us in the wrong direction. We were satisfied 
in the old time with what we had. It was good 
enough. Are men contented now? No; they are 
still improving and improving; still reaching out 
for something that will be quicker, or easier, or 
cheaper than the things that are. We appear to 
have gained much; but really we have gained nothing. 
We are not a bit better off now than we were long 
ago; not so well off, in my opinion.” 

“But, Grandpa, you must remember that you 
were young then, and perhaps looked at the world 
in a more hopeful way than you do now.” 

“Yes, I allow for that, Nelly, I allow for that; I 
don’t deceive myself. My youth does not seem so 
very far off that I cannot remember it distinctly. 
I judge the time fairly, now in my old age, as I 
judge the present time, and my assured opinion is 
that it was superior in its ways, its life, and its people. 
Its people! Ah, Nelly, my dear, there were three 
persons in that past who alone would consecrate it 
to me. I am afraid there are not many women now 
like your mother and mine, and like my dear wife, 
whom you never saw. It seems to me, my child, that 
I would willingly live all my life over again, with its 
strifes and sorrows, if I could clasp again the hand 
of one of those angelic women, and hear a word from 
her sweet lips.” 

As the old man wiped the gathering moisture 
from his eyes, Nelly remained silent, choosing not 
to disturb the reverie into which he had fallen. 
Presently Ephraim rose abruptly, and said, with 
a smile: 


202 


AN OLD FOGY 


“Come, Nelly dear, I guess it is time to go to bed. 
I must be up very early tomorrow morning.” 

“At what hour do you want breakfast, Grandpa?” 

“Why, too soon for you, you sleepy puss. I 
shall breakfast by myself before you are up, or else 
I shall breakfast down town. I have a huge cargo 
of wheat in from Chicago, and I must arrange to 
have it shipped for Liverpool. There is one thing 
that remains to me from the old time, and that is 
some of the hard work of my youth; but even that 
seems a little harder than it used to. So, come 
now; to bed! to bed!” 

While he was undressing, and long after he had 
crept beneath the blankets, Ephraim’s thoughts 
wandered back and back through the spent years; 
and, as the happiness he had known came freshly 
and strongly into his mind, he felt drawn more and 
more towards it; until the new and the old mingled 
together in strange but placid confusion in his brain, 
and he fell asleep. 

When he awoke it was still dark, for the winter 
was just begun; but he heard — or did he only dream 
that he heard? — a clock in some neighboring steeple 
strike six. He knew that he must get up, for his 
business upon that day demanded early attention. 

He sat up in bed, yawned, stretched his arms 
once or twice, and then, flinging the covering aside, 
he leaped to the floor. He fell, and hurt his arm 
somewhat. Strange that he should have miscalcu- 
lated the distance! The bed seemed more than 
twice as high from the floor as it should be. It 
was too dark to see distinctly, so he crept to the 


AN OLD FOGY 


203 


bed with extended hands, and felt it. Yes, it was 
at least four feet from the floor, and, very oddly, it 
had long, slim posts, such as bedsteads used to 
have, instead of the low, carved footboard, and the 
high, postless headboard, which belonged tc the 
bedstead upon which he had slept in recent years. 
Ephraim resolved to strike a light. He groped his 
way to the table, and tried to find the match-box. 
It was not there; he could not discover it upon the 
bureau either. But he found something else, which 
he did not recognize at first, but which a more careful 
examination with his fingers told him was a flint and 
steel. He was vexed that any one should play such 
a trick upon him. How could he ever succeed in 
lighting the gas with flint and steel! 

But he resolved to try, and he moved over towards 
the gas-bracket by the bureau. It was not there! 
He passed his cold hand over a square yard of the 
wall, where the bracket used to be, but it had vanished. 
It actually seemed, too, as if there were no paper on 
the wall, for the whitewash scaled off beneath his 
fingers. 

Perplexed and angry, Ephraim was about to 
replace the flint and steel upon the bureau, and to 
dress in the dark, when his hand encountered a 
candlestick. It contained a candle. He deter- 
mined to try to light it. He struck the flint upon 
the steel at least a dozen times, in the way he re- 
membered doing so often when he was a boy, but 
the sparks refused to catch the tinder. He struck 
again and again, until he became really warm with 
effort and indignation, and at last he succeeded. 


204 


AN OLD FOGY 


It was only a poor, slim tallow candle, and Ephraim 
thought the light was not much better than the dark- 
ness, it was so dim and flickering and dismal. He 
was conscious then that the room was chill, although 
his body felt so warm; and, for fear he should catch 
cold, he thought he would open the register, and let 
in some warm air. The register had disappeared! 
There, right before him, was a vast old-fashioned 
fireplace filled with wood. By what means the 
transformation had been effected, he could not imagine. 
But he was not greatly displeased. 

“I always did like an open wood-fire/’ he said, 
“and now I will have a roaring one.” 

So he touched the flame of the candle to the light 
kindling-wood, and in a moment it was afire. 

“I will wash while it is burning up,” said Ephraim. 

He went to the place where he thought he should 
find the fixed washstand, with hot and cold water 
running from the pipes, but he was amazed to find 
that it had followed the strange fashion of the room, 
and had gone also! There was an old hand-basin, 
with a cracked china pitcher, standing upon a movable 
washstand, but the water in the pitcher had been 
turned to solid ice. 

With an exclamation of impatience and indig- 
nation, Ephraim placed the pitcher between the 
andirons, close to the wood in the chimney-place; 
and he did so with smarting eyes, for the flue was 
cold, and volumes of smoke were pouring out into 
the room. In a few moments he felt that he should 
suffocate unless he could get some fresh air, so he 
resolved to open the upper sash of the window. 


AN OLD FOGY 


205 


When he got to the window he perceived that 
the panes of glass were only a few inches square, 
and that the woodwork inclosing them was thrice 
thicker and heavier than it had been. He strove 
to pull down the upper sash, but the effort was vain; 
it would not move. He tried to lift the lower sash; 
it went up with difficulty; it seemed to weigh a 
hundred pounds; and, when he got it up, it would 
not stay. He succeeded, finally, in keeping it open 
by placing a chair beneath it. 

When the ice in the pitcher had thawed, he finished 
his toilette, and then he descended the stairs. As 
nobody seemed to be moving in the house, he resolved 
to go out and get his breakfast at a restaurant. He 
unlocked the front door, and emerged into the street 
just as daylight fairly had begun. 

As Ephraim descended the steps in front of his 
house, he had a distinct impression that something 
was wrong, and he was conscious of a feeling of 
irritation; but it seemed to him that his mind, for 
some reason, did not operate with its accustomed 
precision; and, while he realized the fact of a partial 
and very unexpected change of the conditions of 
his life, he found that when he tried, in a strangely 
feeble way, to grapple with the problem, the solution 
eluded him and baffled him. 

The force of habit, rather than a very clearly 
defined purpose, led him to walk to the corner of 
the street, just below his dwelling, and to pause 
there, as usual, to await the coming of the street-car 
which should carry him down town. Following a 
custom, too, he took from his waistcoat pocket two 


206 


AN OLD FOGY 


or three pennies (which, to his surprise, had swollen 
to the uncomfortable dimensions of the old copper 
cents), and looked around for the newsboy from 
whom he bought, every morning, the daily paper. 

The lad, however, was not to be seen; and Ephraim 
was somewhat vexed at his absence, because he was 
especially anxious upon that morning to observe the 
quotations of the Chicago and Liverpool grain markets, 
and to ascertain what steamers were loading at the 
wharves. 

The street-car was delayed much longer than he 
expected, and, while he waited, a man passed by, 
dressed oddly, Ephraim noticed, in knee-breeches 
and very old-fashioned coat and hat. Ephraim said 
to him, politely: 

“Can you tell me, sir, where I can get a morning 
paper in this neighborhood? The lad I buy from, 
commonly, is not at his post this morning.” 

The stranger, stopping, looked at Ephraim with 
a queer expression, and presently said : 

“I don’t think I understand you; a morning 
paper, did you say?” 

“Yes, one of the morning papers; the Argus or 
Commerical — any of them.” 

“Why, my dear sir, there is but one newspaper 
published in this city. It is the Gazette. It comes 
out on Saturday, and this, you know, is only Tuesday.” 

“Do you mean to say that we have no daily 
papers?” exclaimed Ephraim, somewhat angrily. 

“ Daily papers! Papers published every day! 
Why, sir, there is not such a newspaper in the world, 
and there never will be.” 


AN OLD FOGY 


207 


“ Pshaw !” said Ephraim, turning his back upon 
the man in disgust. 

The stranger smiled, and, shaking his head as if 
he had serious doubts of Ephraim’s sanity, passed 
onward. 

“The man is cracked,” said Ephraim, looking 
after him. “No daily papers! The fellow has just 
come from the interior of Africa, or else he is an 
escaped lunatic. It is very queer that car does not 
come,” and Ephraim glanced up the street anxiously. 
“There is not a car in sight. A fire somewhere, I 
suppose. Too bad that I should have lost so much 
time. I shall walk down.” 

But, as Ephraim stepped into the highway, he 
was surprised to find that there were no rails upon it. 
The cobblestone pavement was unbroken. 

“Well, upon my word! This is the strangest 
thing of all. What on earth has become of the 
street-cars? I must go afoot, I suppose, if the dis- 
tance is great. I am afraid I shall be too late for 
business, as it is.” 

As he walked onward at a rapid pace, and his eyes 
fell upon the buildings along the route, he was queerly 
sensible that the city had undergone a certain process 
of transformation. It had a familiar appearance, too. 
He seemed to know it in its present aspect, and yet 
not to know it. The way was perfectly familiar to 
him, and he recognized all the prominent landmarks 
easily, and still he had an indefinable feeling that 
some other city had stood where this did; that he had 
known this very route under other conditions, and 
the later conditions were those that had passed away, 


208 


AN OLD FOGY 


while those that he now saw belonged to a much earlier 
period. 

He felt, too, that the change, whatever it was, 
had brought a loss with it. The buildings that 
lined the street now he thought very ugly. They 
were old, misshapen, having pent-roofs with absurdly 
high gables, and the shop-windows were small, dingy, 
and set with small panes of glass. He had known it 
as a handsome street, edged with noble edifices, and 
offering to the gaze of the pedestrian a succession of 
splendid windows filled with merchandise of the 
most brilliant description. 

But Ephraim pressed on with a determination to 
seek his favorite restaurant, for he began to feel 
very hungry. In a little while he reached the comer 
where the restaurant should have been, but to his 
vexation he saw that the building there was a coffee- 
house of mean appearance, in front of which swung 
a blurred and faded sign. 

He resolved to enter, for he could get a break- 
fast here, at least. He pushed through the low 
doorway and over the sanded floor into a narrow 
sort of box, where a table was spread; and, as he 
did so, he had a hazy feeling that this, too, was 
something that he was familiar with. 

“It must be,” he said, “that my brain is pro- 
ducing a succession of those sensations that I have 
had sometimes before, which persuade the credu- 
lous that we move continually in a circle, and for- 
ever live our lives over again.” 

As he took his seat a waiter approached him. 

“Give me a bill of fare,” said Ephraim. 


AN OLD FOGY 


209 


“Bill of fare, sir? Have no bill of fare, sir. Never 
have them, sir; no coffee-house has them, sir. Get 
you up a nice breakfast though, sir.” 

“What have you got?” 

“Ham, sir; steak, sir; boiled egg, sir; coffee, tea, 
muffins. Just in from furrin countries, sir, are 
you?” 

“Never mind where I am from,” said Ephraim, 
testily. “Bring me a broiled steak, an egg, and 
some muffins and coffee, and bring them quickly.” 

“Yes, sir; half a minute, sir. Anything else, sir?” 

“Bring me a newspaper.” 

“Yes, sir; here it is, sir, the very latest, sir.” 

Ephraim took the paper and glanced at it. It 
was the Weekly Gazette , four days old; a little sheet 
of yellow-brown paper, poorly printed, containing 
some fragments of news, and nothing later from 
Europe than November 6th, although the Gazette 
bore date December 19th. So soon as Ephraim com- 
prehended its worthlessness, he tossed it contemptu- 
ously aside, and waited, almost sullenly, for his break- 
fast. 

When it came in upon the tray, carried by the 
brisk waiter, it looked dainty and tempting enough, 
and the fumes that rose from it were so savory that 
he grew into better humor. As it was spread before 
him, he perceived that the waiter had given him a 
very coarse, two-pronged steel fork. 

“Take that away,” said Ephraim, tossing it to 
the end of the table; “I want a silver fork.” 

“Silver fork, sir! Bless my soul, sir! We haven’t 
got any; never heard of such a thing, sir.” 


210 


AN OLD FOGY 


“Never heard of a silver fork, you idiot!” shouted 
Ephraim; “why, everybody uses them.” 

“No, sir; I think not, sir. I’ve lived with first 
quality people, sir, and they all use this kind. Never 
saw any other kind, sir; didn’t know there was 
any. Do they have ’em in furrin parts, sir?” 

“Get out!” said Ephraim, savagely. He was 
becoming somewhat annoyed and bewildered by the 
utter disappearance of so many familiar things. 

But the breakfast was good, and he was hungry, 
so he fell to with hearty zest, and, although he found 
the steel fork clumsy, it did him good service. At 
the conclusion of the meal, Ephraim walked rapidly 
to his office — the office that he had occupied for nearly 
sixty years. As he opened the door, he expected to 
find his letters in the box wherein the postman thrust 
them twice or thrice a day. They were not there. 
The box itself was gone. 

“Too bad ! too bad !” exclaimed Ephraim. “ Every- 
thing conspires to delay me today. I suppose I must 
sit here and wait for that lazy letter-carrier to come, 
and meantime my business must wait too.” 

With the intent not to lose the time altogether, 
Ephraim resolved to write a letter or two. He took 
from the drawer a sheet of rough white paper, and 
opened his inkstand. He could not find his favorite 
steel pen anywhere, and there were no other pens 
in the drawer, only a bundle of quills. Ephraim 
determined to try to use one of these. He ruined 
four, and lost ten minutes before he could make with 
his knife a pen good enough to write with; but 
with this he finished his letter. Then he had another 


AN OLD FOGY 


211 


hunt for an envelope, but he could find one nowhere, 
and nothing was to be done but to fold the sheet 
in the fashion that he had known in his boyhood, 
and to seal it with sealing-wax. He burned his 
fingers badly while performing the last-named opera- 
tion. 

Still the postman had not arrived, and Ephraim, 
being very anxious to mail his letter, resolved to go 
out and drop it into the letter-box at the corner of 
the street. When he reached the comer, he found 
that the letter-box had disappeared as so many other 
things had done; so he resolved to push on to the 
post-office, where he could leave the letter and get 
his morning’s mail. As he approached what he 
had supposed was the post-office, he was dismayed 
to perceive that another building occupied the site. 
The post-office had vanished. 

He turned to a man standing with a crowd which 
was observing him, and asked him where the post- 
office could be found. Obeying the direction, he 
sought the place and found it. Rushing to the single 
window, behind which a clerk stood, he asked: 

“Are there any letters for Ephraim Batterby?” 

“I think not,” said the clerk; “there will be no 
mail in till tomorrow.” 

“Till tomorrow!” shouted Ephraim. “What is 
the matter?” 

“The matter! nothing at all. What’s the matter 
with you?” 

“I am expecting letters from New York and 
Chicago. Axe both mails delayed?” 

“Chicago’s a place I never heard of, and the 


212 


AN OLD FOGY 


mail from New York comes in only three times a 
week. It came yesterday, and it will come in to- 
morrow.’ ’ 

“ Three times a week!” exclaimed Ephraim; “why, 
it comes four or five times a day, unless I am very 
much mistaken.” 

The clerk turned to a fellow-clerk behind him 
and said in a low tone something at which both 
laughed. 

“How do you suppose the mails get here four or 
five times a day?” asked the clerk. 

“Upon the mail trains, of course,” replied Ephraim, 
tartly; and then the clerks laughed again. 

“Well, sir,” said the man at the window, “we 
don’t appear to understand each other; but it may 
straighten things out if I tell you that the New 
York mails come here upon a stage-coach, which 
takes twenty-four hours to make the journey, and 
which reaches here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and 
Fridays.” 

Ephraim was about to make an angry reply, but 
the clerk shut the window and made further dis- 
cussion impossible. For a moment Ephraim was 
puzzled. He stopped to think what he should do 
next, and while he was standing there, he noticed 
a curious crowd gathering about him, a crowd which 
seemed to regard him with peculiar interest. And 
now and then a rude fellow would make facetious 
comments upon Ephraim’s dress, at which some 
of the vulgar would laugh. Ephraim was some- 
what bewildered, and his confusion became greater 
when he observed that all of the bystanders wore 


AN OLD FOGY 


213 


knee-breeches and very ugly high collars and cravats, 
in which their chins were completely buried. 
Ephraim perceived near to him a gentleman who 
held in his hand a newspaper. Encouraged by his 
friendly countenance, Ephraim said to him: 

“I am rather confused, sir, by some unexpected 
changes that I have found about here this morning, 
will you be good enough to give me a little informa- 
tion?” 

“With pleasure, sir.” 

“I have missed some important letters that I 
looked for from New York and the West. I wish 
to communicate with my correspondents at once. 
Will you please tell me where I can find the tele- 
graph office?” 

“The telegraph office! I don’t understand you, 
sir.” 

“I wish to send messages to my friends at those 
points.” 

“Well, sir, I know of no other way to send them 
than through the post-office here.” 

“Do you mean to say that there is no telegraph 
line from here to New York?” 

“My dear sir, what do you mean by a telegraph 
line?” 

“A telegraph line — a line of wire on which I can 
send messages by electricity.” 

“I fear something is wrong with you, sir,” said 
the gentleman gravely. “No such thing exists. 
No such thing can exist.” 

“Nonsense!” said Ephraim, waxing indignant. 
“How do you suppose the afternoon papers today 


214 


AN OLD FOGY 


will get the quotations of the Liverpool markets of 
today? How will the brokers learn today the 
price of securities at the meeting of the London Stock 
Exchange this morning?” 

“You are speaking very wildly, sir,” said the 
gentleman, stepping close to Ephraim and using a 
low tone, while the crowd laughed. “You must be 
more careful, or persons will regard you as insane.” 

“Insane! Why? Because I tell you, what every- 
body knows, that we get cable news from Europe 
every day.” 

“Cable news! cable news! What does the old 
fool mean?” shouted the crowd. 

“What do I mean!” exclaimed Ephraim, in a 
passion; “I mean that you are a pack of idiots for 
pretending to believe that there is no such thing as 
a telegraph, and no such thing as a telegraph cable 
to Europe.” 

The crowd sent up a shout of derisive laughter 
and rushed at him as if to hustle him and use him 
roughly. The gentleman to whom he had spoken 
seized him by the arm and hurried him away. When 
they had turned the corner, the man stopped and 
said to Ephraim: 

“You appear to be a sane man, although you 
speak so strangely. Let me warn you to be more 
careful in the future. If you should be taken up as 
a madman and consigned to a madhouse, you would 
endure terrible suffering, and find it very difficult 
to secure release.” 

“I am perfectly sane,” said Ephraim, “and I 
cannot comprehend why you think what I have said 


AN OLD FOGY 


215 


strange. I wanted my letters, and I wished in 
their absence to correspond by telegraph, because 
I am expecting a cargo of wheat today, which I 
am to ship to Liverpool by steamer.” 

“By steamer! There you go again. Nobody can 
know what you mean by ‘ steamer/” 

“Steamer! Steamship! A ship that crosses the 
ocean by steam, without sails. You know what 
that is, certainly?” 

“ I have heard some talk about a rattle-trap inven- 
tion which used steam to make a little boat paddle 
about on the river here; but as for crossing the 
ocean — well, my dear sir, that is a little too ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculous! Why ” 

“Pardon me,” said the man, “I see you are in- 
corrigible; I must bid you good morning”; and he 
bowed politely and walked quickly away. 

“Well, well!” said Ephraim, standing still and 
looking after him hopelessly. “IPs queer, very 
queer. I don’t begin to understand it at all, I am 
half inclined to believe that the world has conspired 
to make game of me, or else that my poor wits really 
are astray. I don’t feel as certain of them as a clear- 
headed man should.” 

While he spoke, the bells of the city rang out an 
alarm of fire with furious clangor, and in a few 
moments he saw, dashing past him, an old-fashioned 
hand-engine, pulled by a score or two of men who 
held a rope. The burning building was not many 
hundred yards distant from Ephraim, and he felt an 
inclination to see it. When he reached the scene, 
men with leathern buckets were pouring water into 


216 


AN OLD FOGY 


the engine, while other men were forcing the handles 
up and down, with the result that a thin stream fell 
upon the mass of flame. 

He had an impulse to ask somebody why the 
steam fire-engines were not used, but every one 
seemed to be excited and busy, and he remembered 
what his friend had said to him about steamers. 

So he expressed his digust for the stupidity of 
these people in a few muttered ejaculations; and 
then, suddenly, bethought him of his business. 

He resolved to go down to the wharf where he 
had expected to ship his cargo, and to ascertain 
what the situation was there. 

As he came near to the place, he saw that it had 
changed since he last saw it, but a handsome ship 
lay in the dock, and men were carrying bags of grain 
aboard of her. 

“That must be my cargo, ” he said; “but what 
on earth do they mean by loading it in that manner, 
and upon a sailing vessel ?” 

He approached the man who seemed to be superin- 
tending the work, and said : 

“Is this Ephraim Batterby’s wheat?” 

The man looked at him in surprise for a moment, 
and then, smiling, said: 

“No, sir; it is Brown and Martin’s.” 

“When did it arrive?” 

“ Yesterday. 1 ” 

“By rail?” 

“By rail! What do you mean by that?” 

“I say, did it come by rail?” 

“Well, old man, I haven’t the least idea what 


AN OLD FOGY 


217 


you mean by 'rail/ but if you want to know, I’ll 
tell you the grain came by canal-boat.” 

"From Chicago?” 

"Never heard of Chicago. The wheat came 
from Pittsburgh. What are you asking for, any 
way?” 

"Why, I’m expecting some myself, by rail from 
Chicago, and I intend to ship it to Liverpool in a 
steamer — that is,” added Ephraim, hesitatingly, 
"if I can find one.” 

"Chicago! rail! steamer! Old chap, Fm afraid 
you’re a little weak in the top story. What do you 
mean by Chicago?” 

"Chicago! Why, it’s a city three or four hun- 
dred miles west of Pittsburgh; a great center for 
the western grain traffic. Certainly you must have 
heard of it.” 

"Oh, come now, old man, you’re trying to guy 
me! I know well enough that the country is a 
howling wilderness, three hundred miles beyond 
Pittsburgh. Grain market! That’s good!” 

"I don’t know,” said Ephraim, somewhat feebly. 
"It used to be there. And I expected a cargo of 
wheat from Chicago to be here this morning, by 
railroad.” 

"What kind of a railroad?” 

"A railroad: iron rails, with cars propelled with 
steam! I expected to find an elevator here to put 
the grain on board of an iron vessel; to load the 
whole twenty thousand bushels today; but things 
have gone wrong somehow, and I don’t understand 
precisely why.” 


218 


AN OLD FOGY 


“Bill,” said the man, turning to a young fellow, 
one of his assistants, near him, “trot this poor old 
chap up to the mayor’s office, so that he’ll be taken 
care of. He’s talking to me about bringing twenty 
thousand bushels of wheat on a rail, and loading it 
in an iron vessel — an iron vessel, mind you — in 
one day! It’s a shame for the old fellow’s relations 
to let him wander about alone.” 

Before “Bill” had a chance to offer his assist- 
ance, Ephraim, alarmed, and more than ever be- 
wildered, walked quickly away. 

As he gained the street, a man of about middle 
age suddenly stopped in front of him and said: 

“Good morning, Mr. Batterby.” 

Ephraim had got into such a frame of mind that 
he was almost startled at the sound of his own name. 

He looked hard at the stranger but, although 
the features were somewhat familiar, he could not 
really recognize the man. 

“Don’t know me, Batterby? Impossible! Don’t 
know Tony Miller!” 

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Ephraim; “Tony 
Miller! so it is! Tony Miller! Not Tony Miller? 
Why — why — why, Miller, I thought you died thirty 
years ago!” 

“Died! ha, ha! Not a bit of it, man. Why, 
it’s absurd! I saw you only two or three weeks 
since!” 

“Strange, strange!” said Ephraim almost sadly, 
in his mind trying to recall some fragments of the 
past. “I could have sworn that you were dead!” 

“No, sir; just as hearty and lively as I ever was 


AN OLD FOGY 


219 


By the way, Mr. Batterby, what has become of 
Ephraim? I don’t see him about any more.” 

“Ephraim? Ephraim Batterby? Why, who do 
you think I am?” 

“Joshua Batterby, of course; who else? You 
don’t seem very well today, I think.” 

“tie mistakes me for my father,” said Ephraim 
to himself. “When will all this wild, puzzling mys- 
tery end?” Then, addressing Miller, he said, “I 
should like to have some conversation with you, 
Miller; I am strangely confused and upset today.” 

“Certainly; be glad to have a chat with you. I 
say, suppose you come home and dine with me? 
I am on my way' to dinner now. Will you go?” 

“Gladly,” replied Ephraim. 

As they walked on, Miller, with intent to break 
the silence said: 

“I think we shall have rain today, Mr. Batterby.” 

“Perhaps; it looks like it. What does the signal 
service say?” 

“What does the what say?” 

“The signal service. What are the indications?” 

“I haven’t the least idea what you mean, Mr. 
Batterby.” 

“Why,” said Ephraim, timidly, “were you not 
aware that a bureau in the War Department collects 
information which enables it to indicate approach- 
ing conditions of the weather, and that it gives 
this information to the newspapers?” 

“Never heard of such a thing, Mr. Batterby, 
and I don’t believe it. Somebody has been joking 
with you. The only weather indications we have are 
in the almanacs, and they are not at all trustworthy.” 


220 


AN OLD FOGY 


The two walked along in silence for a time, and 
then Ephraim said: 

“ Miller !” 

“Well?” 

“I am going to ask you a good many queer questions 
today, for a private purpose of my own; will you 
agree to answer them candidly?” 

“If I can.” 

“And not think me insane, or absurd, or stupid?” 

“Of course I should not think so.” 

“Very well,” said Ephraim; “and when we are 
done, I may explain why I asked them, and per- 
haps you can solve a mystery for me.” 

They reached the house and entered it. The 
first thing Miller did was to proceed to the side- 
board, fill two glasses with wine from a decanter, 
and ask Ephraim to drink. 

“Thank you,” said Ephraim, “I never touch it.” 

Miller looked at him for a moment in amazement. 
He concluded that this must be one of the phases of 
Batterby’s newly-developed queemess. So he emptied 
his own glass and put it down. 

They entered the parlor to wait for dinner. 
Ephraim’s eye was caught by a very pretty miniature 
on the wall. 

“Who is that?” he asked. 

“Mrs. Miller; my wife.” 

“Is it a photograph?” 

“I don’t know what a photograph is.” 

“Ah!” sighed Ephraim, “I remember. Let me 
ask you something else. Did you ever hear of a 
place named Chicago?” 


AN OLD FOGY 


221 


“Never! there is no such place.” 

“You know nothing of railroads, or steamships, 
or telegraphs?” 

“You are talking Greek to me.” 

“Did you ever hear of a telegraph cable to Europe?” 

“Well, you are asking queer questions, sure enough. 
No, I never did.” 

“Is there, or is there not, a railway line across 
the continent to the Pacific?” 

“What a funny kind of an idea! No, there isn’t.” 

“Are there any such things as daily papers?” 

“No, sir.” 

“One question more: I see you have a wood fire. 
Do you never bum coal?” 

“Charcoal, sometimes, for some purposes.” 

“I mean hard coal — stone coal?” 

“There is no such thing in existence, so far as I 
know. What are you up to, anyhow? Going to 
invent something?” 

“I will tell you after awhile, maybe,” replied 
Ephraim; and then to himself he said, “I am be- 
ginning to catch the meaning of all this experience. 
How strange it is!” 

A lady entered from the front door, and passed 
the parlor. Ephraim saw that she had on a very 
narrow dress, with a high waist almost beneath her 
armpits, that she wore upon her head an enormous 
and hideous green “calash” which bore some resem- 
blance to a gig-top. 

He had not seen one of those wonderful bits of 
head-gear for fifty years. 

In a few moments the lady entered the parlor. 


222 


AN OLD FOGY 


As Mr. Miller presented Batterby to his wife, Ephraim 
was shocked to perceive that she seemed to have 
on but a single, thin, white garment, and that even 
this appeared to be in immediate danger of slipping 
downward. He thought it shockingly immodest, 
but he remembered the figures of women he had seen 
in the remote past, and thought he knew what this 
meant. So he gave no indication of surprise. 

They went to the dining-room. Ephraim was 
very careful in conducting his share of the conversa- 
tion. Mrs. Miller, unlike her husband, had not been 
forewarned. However, once, when she was lamenting 
the absence of fruits and vegetables from the markets 
in winter, Ephraim incautiously asked her why she 
did not use canned goods; and this opened the way 
to some vexatious questions. A little later, Miller 
began talking about the Warners, people whom 
Ephraim in his soul knew had been dead forty years; 
and Miller had mentioned that two of them were down 
with small-pox. Thereupon Ephraim asked if the 
malady was prevalent, and if Miller had been vacci- 
nated. And thus again he got into trouble, for neither 
his host nor hostess knew his meaning. He was 
tripped up again by a reference to sewing-machines; 
and finally, by remarking, innocently, when Miller 
observed that it had just begun to rain, that he was 
sorry he had not his rubbers with him. 

But he would not try to explain his meaning 
when they pressed him. He had, indeed, an increasing 
tendency to taciturnity. He shrank more and more 
from the thought of attempting a discussion of the 
situation in which some wondrous mischance had 


AN OLD FOGY 


223 


placed him. As Miller waxed boisterous and lively 
in his talk, Ephraim was strongly impelled to complete 
reserve. 

For he had creeping over him, gradually, a horrible 
feeling that these people, in whose company he was 
lingering, were not real people; that they were dead, 
and that by some awful jugglery they had been 
summoned forth and compelled to play over, before 
him, a travesty of their former lives. 

He became gloomy and wretched beneath the 
oppression of the thoughts that crowded his brain. 
As the hour slipped away, his distress was made 
more intense by the conduct of Miller, who, warmed 
with wine, mingled oaths with his conversation. 
Ephraim felt as if that blasphemy came to him 
clothed with a new horror from the region of mystery 
beyond the grave. Finally, after Mrs. Miller had 
left the room, her husband’s utterance became thick 
and harsh, and presently he slipped, drunken and 
helpless, beneath the table. 

Ephraim sat alone at the board. The room grew 
darker, for the rain was now swirling without, against 
the window-panes. There was something ghastly 
and fearful in the appearance of the apartment. 
The outlines of the furniture, seen through the dusk, 
were distorted and misshapen. Ephraim felt as if 
he were in the presence of phantoms. He had the 
sensations of one who sits in a charnel-house and 
knows that he is the only living thing among the 
dead. 

His good sense half revolted against the fear 
that overspread him; but it seemed not strong 


224 


AN OLD FOGY 


enough to quell the tremulous terror in his soul; 
for that grew and grew until it filled him with a kind 
of panic. He had such a meaningless dread as the 
bravest know when they find themselves amid dark- 
ness and loneliness in a dwelling wherein, of late, have 
been pleasant company and merriment and laughter; 
wherein has been joyousness that has suddenly been 
quenched by dismal silence. 

He was seized by a sudden impulse to fly. He 
pushed away his chair, and glanced timorously 
around him. Then he trod swiftly, and with a 
fiercely-beating heart, to the hall-way. Grasping 
his hat from the table, he opened the door, and 
fled out into the tempest. 

As he sped away through the gloomy street, now 
wet and slippery, and covered with pools of rain, it 
smote his heart with a new fear to think that even 
the city about him, with its high walls and impending 
roofs, its bricks and stones and uplifting spires, was 
unreal to ghastliness. But even his great dread did 
not forbid his mind to recall the mysteries of the day. 

“I know,” he said, as he rushed onward, “what 
it all means. This is the Past. Some mighty hand 
has swept away the barrier of years, and plunged 
me once more into the midst of the life that I knew 
in my youth, long ago. And I have loved and 
worshipped that past. Blind and foolish man! I 
loved it! Ah, how I hate it now! What a miser- 
able, miserable time it was ! How poor and insufficient 
life seems under its conditions! How meanly men 
crawled about, content with their littleness and 
folly, and unconscious of the wisdom that lay within 


AN OLD FOGY 


225 


their reach, ignorant of the vast and wonderful 
possibilities that human ingenuity might compass !” 

“ There was nothing in that dreary past that I 
could love, excepting’’ — and Ephraim was almost 
ready to weep as he thought that the one longing 
of his soul could not be realized — “ excepting those 
who were torn from my arms, my heart, my home, 
by the cruel hand of death.” 

The excitement, the distress, the anguish, the 
wild terror of the day, came back to him with accu- 
mulated force as he hurried along the footway; and 
when he reached his own home he was distracted, 
unnerved, hysterical. 

With eager but uncertain fingers he pushed open 
the front door, and went into his sitting-room. 
There a fresh shock came to him, for he saw his 
wife in the chair she had occupied in the old time, 
long, long ago. She arose to greet him, and he 
saw that her dear face wore the kindly smile he had 
known so well and that had added much to his 
sum of happiness in the years that were gone. He 
leaped to clasp her in his arms when he heard the 
sweet tones of her voice welcoming him; his eyes 
filled with tears, and the sobs came, as he said: 

“Ah, my dearest, my dearest! have you, too, 
come up from the dead past to meet me? It was 
you alone that hallowed it to me. I loved — loved 
you — I ” 

He felt his utterance choked, the room swam 
before him, there was a ringing noise in his ears, 
he felt himself falling; then he lost consciousness. 

He knew nothing more until he realized that 


15 


226 


AN OLD FOGY 


there was a gentle knocking near to him, as of some 
one who demanded admittance at the door. He 
roused himself with an effort, and almost mechanically 
said: 

“Come in.” 

He heard a light step, and he opened his eyes. 
He was in his own bedroom, the room of the present, 
not of the past, and in his own bed. It was Nelly 
who knocked at the door; she stood beside him. 

“It is time to get up, Grandpa,” she said. 

“Wh — where am I? What has happened?” Then, 
as his mind realized the truth, he said, “Oh, Nelly, 
Nelly, how I have suffered !” 

“How, Grandpa?” 

“I — I — but never mind now, my dear; I will 
tell you after awhile. Run downstairs while I pre- 
pare for breakfast. But, Nelly, let me tell you not 
to believe what I said to you about the glories of 
the past; it was not true, my child, not true. I have 
learned better; I talked to you like a foolish old 
man. Thank God, my dear, that you live later in 
the world’s history. No man is more unwise or 
more ungrateful than he who finds delight in play- 
ing the part of An Old Fogy.” 


IX 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 
fur the ‘Flying Dutchman/ ” said William 



Potsherd, the venerable mariner, sitting 


in the reading-room of the Seamen’s Mission 


after the monthly meeting, and striking the table 
with the palm of his hand, “they needn’t tell me 
there ain’t none, fur I seen her with me own eyes and 
sailed on her. 

“It was that time I was telling you about, when 
I was fus’ mate of the steamer ‘Indian King,’ and the 
cyclone capsized her, and I clutched a boat as I came 
up, and dumb into her. Then I seen Em’ly Smith, 
the cap’n’s colored stewardess, floating about, and 
I fished her out, and we found ourselves alone on 
the boiling sea. 

“So we run along fur sixteen hours, me and Em’ly 
Smith. She was black; black and fat. But she was 
cheerful. She belonged to the Sons and Daughters 
and Brothers and Sisters of Aaron, of the Tribe of 
Levi, of Rising Sun, Philadelphia, and she sung them 
camp-meeting hymns to keep up my sperrits; and it 
did keep them up. As I set there a-looking at her, I 
says to myself : ‘If the wust comes to the wust, most 
likely it’s going to be my luck to have to eat you, 
Em’ly; fur when the choice is between an able sea- 
man, as a useful member of society, and a plain 
cook, there ain’t no choice. 


( 227 ) 


228 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


“But after a while I seen a queer-looking craft 
coming towards me with all sails set, and I thought 
she’d run us down; but I ketched at the stay-chains 
as she reached me, and, tying the painter of the boat 
to them, I was on deck in a minute, and then I lifted 
Em’ly Smith out. 

“I dunno how to tell you what that craft looked 
like. A kind o’ dusky red all over her decks and her 
sails and her bulwarks, and the red a kind o’ soft 
glow like the head of a match in a dark room. I 
never seen nothing jus’ like it afore or since, except- 
ing it was punk out in the woods; only that ain’t 
red, and this ship was red and sort o’ dim, shiny-like 
frum stem to stem. And she flew through the water 
faster’n any steamer you ever seen. 

“Well, sir, I’m no coward, but I own up I was 
skeered with the look o’ the boat; and not a man in 
sight on deck, not even at the helium; the sails jus’ 
a-bulging and the vessel a-whipping over the sea, 
the same’s if she was a bird. 

“So then I seen a light or something a-shining 
through a crack in the cabin aft, and I says to Em’ly 
Smith: 

“ ‘Now, Em’ly, you just set there on that bucket 
till I look around and investigate’; and I made my 
way boldly to the cabin, and went down and shoved 
the door open and walked right in, ezzackly ’s if I was 
the skipper himself. 

“There was two men a-setting at the table in there, 
the queerest dressed you ever seen, and they was 
a-playing some kind o’ game with cards that was so 
black they might ’ve been made of charcoal fur all the 
difference I could see. 



The Flying Dutchman 


















THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


229 


“Then one o’ the men who set a-facing me looks 
up just as he was going to play a card; and when 
he seen me, he says: 

“ ‘Well, you have nerve! Where did you come 
frum? Where’s your manners? Don’t you know 
this is private?’ 

“Then I ups and tells him, and fur a minute he 
looks at me ’s if he’d half a mind to chuck me over- 
board, and then he says: 

“ ‘What’s your name?’ 

“ ‘William Potsherd, mariner,’ says I, ‘of Tom’s 
River, New Jersey,’ and then I explains to him how 
I happened to drop in on him; but leaving out the 
particulars about Em’ly Smith. 

“ ‘Set down, William,’ says he, after reflecting 
for a little while. ‘I’m Cap’n Schmitt, the skipper 
o’ this yer craft, and this is my fus’ leftenant, Vander- 
werken.’ 

“But the fus’ leftenant seemed sour about some- 
thing, fur he jus’ looks at me and scowls; and when 
I took a chair, he went over into the corner by the 
cupboard and scowled wuss and wuss. 

“ ‘And so you thought you’d ship with us for the 
v’yage, did you, William?’ says Cap’n Schmitt, with 
a grim smile on his face — a face all scarred and gashed 
with wrinkles. Why, when you looked at it, he 
seemed ’s if he might be a thousand years old or more. 

“ ‘I dunno,’ says I, ‘about no v’yage. That de- 
pends where you’re bound to,’ says I. 

“‘Bound!’ he says, half a-larfing. ‘We’re bound 
to Tartaroo,’ says he, ‘if you know where that is, and 
we’re a long time a-gitting there.’ 


230 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


“ ‘Where’re you frum?’ says I. 

“ ‘Where’re we frum, Vanderwerken? 5 says he, 
a-turning to his fus’ leftenant and larfing three-quar- 
ters this time. 

“But Vanderwerken jus’ scowled and grunted and 
grunted and scowled and said nothing. Then the 
Cap’n looks at me ag’in serious, and says: 

“ ‘Never you mind, William, where we’re frum. 
It’s so long ago I’ve almost clean forgot. 

“ ‘Don’t you keep a log?” says I. 

“ ‘Why, dog gone it, William,’ says Cap’n Schmitt, 
‘I’ve writ and writ till I reckon I’ve about wore out 
the alphabet. I’ve writ all over the cabin walls and 
the furniture and the poop-deck and the sails! Log! 
I give her up,’ says he, ‘more’n a hundred years ago.’ 

“ ‘And that’s a good while, too,’ says I, jus’ to be 
kind o’ sociable. 

“ ‘I’ve been a-sailing yer since 1644,’ says he. 
‘Sometimes it seems to me like a million years, and 
then ag’in sometimes it seems ’s if it begun only 
last Tuesday a week. My head’s got queer over it,’ 
says he, ‘so that really I’m not jus’ sure if I’m real 
or unreal. Would you mind poking me with your 
finger, and telling me what you think?’ 

“So, jus’ to obleege him, I jabs him a couple of times 
in the cheek and the shoulder, and I says to him: 

“ ‘Cap’n Schmitt, in my opinion you’re not real 
real. You’re about like tallow or cheese; you give 
when I poke you.’ 

“ ‘Half real and half unreal, s’spos’n we say,’ says 
he. ‘Maybe so. I’m not flesh and I’m not sperrit. 
That’s my view, too. What d’you think o’ that, 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


231 


Vanderwerken?’ says he, a-turning once more to his 
fus’ leftenant. But the fus’ leftenant he sniffles and 
scowls and looks at the cabin roof and declines to 
answer. 

“ ‘ Where did I understand you to say you hail 
frum, William?’ says Cap’n Schmitt. 

“ ‘Tom’s River,’ says I. 

“ ‘And where’s that?” 

“I told him; and when I mentioned BamegatBay, 
I seen him kind o’ flinch, and I knowed why before I 
left him. 

“That’s in the United States, and the United 
States is the greatest country on this earth,’ says I; 
and then knowing he hadn’t heard any news lately, 
I went on and told him about General Washington 
and the Revolution. 

“ ‘ General Washington?’ he says, trying to remem- 
ber. ‘Was that the man that was left, a little baby, 
in the bulrushes?’ 

“ ‘No, no!’ says I. Tie was fust in peace, fust in 
war, and fust in the hearts of his countrymen. You’ve 
got your mind on Moses.’ 

“ ‘Hah!’ says he, ‘maybe I have. I get mixed on 
people somehow, nowadays. And how is things, 
William, amongst the folks on shore? I git to hanker- 
ing after ’em now and then. And speaking of babies — 
ah, William!’ says he to me, a red tear a-rolling over 
the crinkles on his face, ‘what wouldn’t I give to see 
one o’ them ag’in? Tell me, William, do they still 
smile when the angels speaks to ’em in their sleep, 
and take notice, and all that kind o’ thing, jus’ the 
way they used to?’ 


232 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


“ ' Jus’ the same/ says I; 'and shake their rattles 
and chew their gum-rings, and cry and keep the 
folks awake at nights. Jus’ the very same/ 

"I seen a Aim gathering on his eyes as I spoke, 
and so I went on and told him about my baby grand- 
son and his golden hair and blue eyes, and two lovely 
white front teeth and his cherry lips, until presently 
Cap’n Schmitt waves his hand at me and says: 

“ 'Stop, William! Stop that! I can’t stand it 
another minute!” 

"Then he heaved a deep sigh, and he was about 
to speak when he caught sight o’ Vanderwerken 
standing there in the corner. The Cap’n had some- 
thing on his mind that he wanted to talk to me about 
private, and so he says: 

" 'Vanderwerken, jus’ run up on deck for a few 
minutes and look at the glass, and see if we’re in the 
Tropic of Capricorn or in Cancer.’ 

"Vanderwerken said he wouldn’t go, and so Cap’n 
Schmitt flew at him and gripped him, and they had 
it over and over the cabin floor, until directly Cap’n 
Schmitt doubled Vanderwerken all up, jus’ ’s if he 
was putty, and flung him out and bolted the door. 
Through the window I seen Vanderwerken a-laying 
there, gradually coming back to shape ag’in, fust 
one dent bulging out and then another, jus’ like one 
o’ them rubber doll-babies, you know. 

" Cap’n Schmitt then sets down ag’in by the table, 
and he says to me: 

" 'William, I’m a-beginning to git tired o’ this 
kind o’ thing. Here I’ve been a-setting and playing 
seven-up with Vanderwerken fur two hundred years, 


























* 


















































































































* 

























































“ I Cussed the Thunderstorm 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


233 


and it’s gitting to wear on me — Vanderwerken won’t 
learn to play checkers; and so I’m yearning fur land 
and sunlight and the comforts o’ home, and seeing 
you makes me want ’em wuss. If I could once git 
ashore in a new place and begin life over ag’in, I 
believe I could live down my past. Don’t you think 
I could, William?’ 

“ ‘I dunno,’ says I. ‘because I dunno nothing 
about your past.’ 

“ ‘Don’t you know,’ says he, ‘what’s the reason 
this yer ship keeps a-flying over the seas? It was this 
way: In 1644, while I was a- trying to take the ship 
around the Horn, there was an awful thunderstorm 
that kep’ a-driving us back and nearly capsized us. 
It made me so mad that I stood out on the poop-deck 
and took off my hat and cussed the thunder-storm; 
and because I did that I was condemned to keep 
flying over the seas and never to come to port. Tough 
luck, William, don’t you think, jus’ fur cussin’ at one 
little thunderstorm?’ 

“ ‘Why don’t you repent?’ says I. 

“ ‘Repent, William?’ says he. ‘What’s the good 
of repenting when repenting won’t take off the cuss 
that was put on me? No, sir, if repenting would ’ve 
lifted it, it would ’ve been lifted long ago.’ 

“ ‘And what will lift it?’ says I. 

“Cap’n Schmitt looked around to see if Vander- 
werken was a-listening, and then, very solemn, he 
says: ‘There’s only one thing, William, that’ll do the 
business, and that is fur a fair young maiden to marry 
me. And now look at it — if I can find a fair young 
maiden to marry me, the cuss will be removed; but, 


234 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


don’t you see, I’m not ’lowed to go ashore to find a 
fair young maiden and to court her and to ask her — 
and there you are, blocked at both ends; no chance 
one way or another. Do you think that’s a square 
deal on me, William? Blamed if I do. So what I 
want to do is to find that girl somehow and marry 
her and settle down and make a fresh start. Can 
you think how you could help me, William?’ 

“ ‘ Settling down’s all right,’ says I, ‘and starting 
fresh’s all right, too, but I don’t know about marry- 
ing.’ Then I looks him over and says: ‘Because 
girls is more particular now than they used to be. 
You’re no longer young, you know. Did you say 
1644? Well, Cap’n Schmitt, you’re two hundred 
and fifty if you’re a day, and that would seem old 
to most girls.’ 

“ ‘I know it,’ says he, ‘but I’m not so bad-looking, 
William, now, am I?’ And besides’ (and then he 
looked around ag’in to find if Vanderwerken was 
a-lurking by the door), ‘I’m jus’ a-rolling in wealth.’ 

“ ‘You are?’ says I. 

“ ‘Jus’ a-rolling in it.’ 

“ ‘What are you wuth? ’ says I, fur that very minute 
it come into my mind like a flash of lightning that 
him and Em’ly Smith might fix up a match betwixt 
em’ if there was anything in it for me. 

“ ‘What am I wuth?’ says Cap’n Schmitt. ‘Well, 
maybe I can’t put it in straight figures or in fractions, 
but, I pledge you my word I have billions of dollars 
and tons of diamonds and jewelry, to say nothing of 
fus’ mortgages and Government bonds; more’n you 
can count,’ says he. 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


235 


“ ‘Big talk/ I says, 'never went fur with me, Cap’n 
Schmitt. Seeing’s believing, and nothing else is. 
Where is this stuff? ’ 

“ ‘It’s buried/ says he, 'buried good and tight.’ 

" 'Buried for good, you mean/ says I, just to 
draw him on. 

" 'Buried on the beach of Barnegat Bay/ says he, 
'but buried where you can’t find it without the chart; 
and I’ve got the chart. Howsomedever/ says he, 
' the half of it goes to the man who finds the girl that 
will have me.’ 

" 'Do you mean that, Cap’n Schmitt?’ says I. 

" 'I’ll write it and sign it and seal it/ says he. 
'Half’s enough for me if I have love’s young dream 
along with it.’ 

" 'Cap’n Schmitt/ says I, 'it comes to my mind 
that maybe I can help you out. But before we strike 
a bargain, tell me if you prefer a blonde or a brunette? ’ 

“ 'It don’t make no great difference/ says he, 
a- waving his hand; 'but brunettes is my favorites.’ 

" 'Dark brunettes, or tollably light brunettes?’ 

" 'Rather dark/ says he; 'but I don’t care fur 
freckles.’ 

" 'I think I know one that’ll suit you/ says I. 

" 'I make no p’int about beauty/ says he. ‘I 
want her to be soulful. Her soul must look out of 
her eyes. Her heart must throb in unison with mine 
— throb for throb. Git me such a wife as that, Wil- 
liam, and half the treasure is yourn and welcome.’ 

" ' Give me a glance at that chart, jus’ for a minute, 
Cap’n, will you?’ says I. 

“ Cap’n Schmitt turned around to get the chart 


236 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


out of the locker, when suddenly he dropped his hands 
and said: 

“ ‘What is that? D’ye hear that?’ 

“I heard it well enough. Em’ly Smith, out there 
in the forecastle, had struck up and was singing 
‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,’ and she sung it fine, 
too. 

“ ‘ Oh, that’s nothing,’ says I, fur I wanted to get 
my hands on the chart and to have the contract 
signed before I introduced him to Em’ly. ‘That’s 
Vanderwerken,’ says I. 

“ ‘ Vanderwerken’s grandmother!’ he says, wild 
with excitement. ‘You have to steady yourself 
ag’in something when Vanderwerken sings. That’s 
an angel, or I’m no judge. Let me get out o’ that 
door.’ 

“ ‘ Cap’n Schmitt,’ says I, putting myself betwixt 
him and the door, ‘I don’t want no trouble, but you 
can’t pass me till I see that chart.’ 

“His eyes flamed fire, and he looked like a fiend 
as he drawed his cutlass and made at me. But 
I picks up a chair, and I says to him: ‘Now, steady, 
steady, my man! Don’t try no game o’ bluff with 
me. Hand out that chart.’ 

“ ‘ I’ll kill you ! ’ says he, making a pass at me. ‘Git 
out o’ my way!’ He struck at me, but I ketched 
the blade on the leg o’ the chair. 

“ ‘You can’t skeer me,’ says I. ‘What are you, 
anyway? You’re nothing but a sceptre; and if I 
couldn’t whip a sceptre, I’d be ashamed to go home 
and meet my relations.’ 

“He seen I meant business, so then he begun to 
halloa for Vanderwerken. 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


237 


“ ‘ Never mind Vanderwerken,’ says I. ‘The 
door’s locked; and if it wasn’t, I’m not af eared o’ 
Vanderwerken.’ 

“Just then we ketched the sound o’ Em’ly Smith’s 
voice ag’in. She was on the eleventh verse of ‘ Swing 
Low, Sweet Chariot.’ Cap’n Schmitt dropped the 
p’int of his cutlass and listened. 

“ ‘Heavenly, ain’t it?’ says he. 

“ ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘heavenly it is. And that’s the 
girl I had in my mind fur you if you’d only play 
fair about that Barnegat Bay business. I never 
see such a fool as you — a-throwing away the only 
chance you’re ever likely to git.’ 

“Then Cap’n Schmitt begun to quiet down, and 
he says: 

“ ‘She come along with you, did she?’ 

“ ‘She did,’ says I. ‘I’m her protector; and I’m 
a-going to protect her, too.’ 

“ ‘I’ll tell you, William,’ says he, ‘what I’ll do. 
Give me a look at her; and if I fancy her, half the 
treasure’s yourn.’ 

“ ‘No,’ says I; ‘I’m a- taking no chances. Give 
me the chart or lose Em’ly.’ 

“ ‘Is that her name?’ says he. ‘Em’ly! I always 
thought it lovely. Em’ly what?’ 

“ ‘Smith,’ says I; ‘pretty much the same name 
as yourn. Hardly any trouble to change it.’ 

“Cap’n Schmitt begun to think; and while he 
was setting there thinking, the thirtenth verse came 
a-floating in the cabin window, and it was clear to 
me something or other was making Em’ly Smith 
do her best. She sung like a canary. As her voice 


238 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


died away Cap’n Schmitt got up and went to the 
cupboard and takes out the chart and hands it to me 
and says: 

“ ‘William, I’ll do it! But you’ll divide even with 
me if you get there fust? Give me your hand on it.’ 
And so I shook hands with him, and then we went on 
deck. 

“There was a kind o’ half gloom, so’s you couldn’t 
see things quite plain. I glanced at the binnacle, 
and found the compass a-p’inting jus’ the way the 
ship was a-going. It always did that. Then I looked 
at my watch, and it was jus’ midnight. The works 
was a-going, but the hands never moved from twelve 
whilst I was on that ship. Fur away in the forecastle 
I could see the whites of Em’ly Smith’s eyes as we 
moved towards her. 

“There she was, still a-singing, and Vanderwerken 
set aside her on another bucket. He had a-holt of 
her hand, and his eyes was shet, and he was jus’ 
a-drinking in the music, perfectly happy. 

“So when we come near, Cap’n Schmitt whispers 
to me: 

“ ‘She’s somewhat darker than I expected.’ 

“ ‘It’s the gloom,’ I says. ‘She shows off better 
in the daylight.’ 

“ ‘And I don’t see,’ says he, ‘how we can honestly 
call her a fair young maiden; and that’s the kind, 
you remember, that I have to have to lift the cuss.’ 

“ ‘She’s thirty-six,’ says I; ‘and that’s very young 
compared with two hundred and fifty; and as fur 
fair, what I think is that she has to be fair in the sense 
that she’ll play fair — jus’ be honest, you know; and 
Em’ly Smith’ll do that every time.’ 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


239 


“Em’ly Smith stopped singing jus’ then, and 
Vanderwerken, keeping his eyes shet, says: ‘More! 
more! let’s have some more, Em’ly.’ So then Em’ly 
Smith starts in on the fifteenth verse; and as she 
drawed to the end of it, Cap’n Schmitt stepped over 
and kicked the bucket frum underneath Vander- 
werken, dropping him on the deck. 

“Then Cap’n Schmitt says to her: 

“ ‘Which verse was that, Em’ly? ’ 

“ ‘The fifteenth,’ says she. 

“ ‘Now give us the sixteenth,’ says he, and so Em’ly 
begun on the sixteenth. 

“When she stopped, Cap’n Schmitt drawed me 
over to one side, and says to me: ‘I think maybe we 
can make a trade, William. Em’ly wouldn’t be jus’ 
my fus’ choice, but still there’s a charm about her, 
particularly about her singing. I’m a little shy 
with girls,’ says he. ‘Would you mind opening out 
the subject to her fur me?’ 

“So I sets down alongside of Em’ly, on Vander- 
werken’s bucket, whilst Capn’ Schmitt goes to the 
bulwark and looks over; and whilst Em’ly was a 
good deal set up by Cap’n Schmitt’s offer, she felt she 
was obleeged to decline it. She said she was already 
engaged to Arcturus Williams, the President of the 
Sons and Daughters and Brothers and Sisters of Aaron, 
of the Tribe of Levi, of Rising Sun, Philadelphia; and 
that, anyhow, even if she was willing to throw Arc- 
turus over, she should feel like going a little slow 
about marrying a man who seemed to her to be half 
sceptre and half pirate. 

“Of course, I daresn’t say this to Cap’n Schmitt, 


240 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


or there’d be trouble right off, and the Bamegat Bay 
treasure would never come my way, so I had to resort 
to duplicity. 

“ Calling Cap’n Schmitt over by the forecastle 
scuttle, I says to him: 

“ ‘Em’ly says she prefers Vanderwerken. , 

“He was pretty mad. ‘Ell have to keel-haul 
Vanderwerken yet/ says he. 

“ ‘But Em’ly has a kind heart, and she’s willing 
to sacrifice her feelings to lift the cuss frum you; only 
she must have conditions.’ 

[ “ ‘What conditions?’ says Cap’n Schmitt. 

“ ‘She promised her ma afore she left home that 
if she ever got married, she wouldn’t have any parson 
to marry her but Brother Wiley of the Brick Church; 
and if you’re willing to wait till she can git him, she’s 
youm with love and kind regards.’ 

“ ‘That’s not unreasonable,’ says Cap’n Schmitt; 
‘but what I want to know is: How am I and Brother 
Wiley and Em’ly Smith going to come together?’ 

“ So we talked it over fur a while, and finally Cap’n 
Schmitt agreed that me and Em’ly should try to 
git ashore, and hunt up Brother Wiley, and meet 
Cap’n Schmitt’s ship three miles off Bamegat Light 
on the fifteenth of March, at twelve o’clock midnight 
ezzackly. 

“Then we shook hands all around, and Cap’n 
Schmitt tenderly kissed Em’ly good-bye. As I 
helped her over the side into our boat, I handed the 
Bamegat Bay chart to Cap’n Schmitt to hold fur a 
minute; and when all was ready, he put the chart 
at me and says: 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


241 


“ ‘Promise me now, William, that you will divide 
fair; but don’t cross your breath to it, fur that won’t 
go here!’ 

“Well, sir, I don’t know what made me do it, but 
afore I could take the chart out of his hands I crossed 
my breath, and that very minute there was a loud 
BANG! and I was whirled round and round in the 
air and became unconscious. 

“When I come to, I found myself laying in one 
end of the boat, whilst Em’ly Smith set in the other 
end singing softly to herself the nineteenth verse 
of ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.’ The sun was jus’ 
a-gitting up, and the flood tide was a-sweeping the 
boat into Delaware Bay. Well, we run ashore at 
Cape May, and Em’ly and me come home on the 
train. But both she and Brother Wiley backed dead 
out on the fifteenth of March, and on the sixteenth 
she married President Arcturus Williams, of Rising 
Sun. 

“As for that Bamegat Bay treasure, there it’s 
a-laying and there it’ll go on a-laying, whilst 
William Potsherd, who might ’ve been a millionaire, 
can’t rub two dollars together.” 


16 


X 


MR. SKINNER’S NIGHT IN THE UNDER- 
WORLD 

I N the reading-room of a hotel at Eisenach, Cen- 
tral Germany, Mr. Bartholomew G. Skinner, of 
Squan, New Jersey, United States of America, 
sat with his feet upon the edge of a table. 

Mr. Skinner had acquired a fortune at Squan. He 
began as a keeper of a summer hotel, and with money 
earned in this business he had engaged in speculations 
in land upon a large scale. Having bought up vast 
tracts of “pine barrens” in West Jersey — great 
stretches of sandy loam, on which grew nothing but 
stunted pines, scrub oaks, and huckleberry bushes; 
he cleared them, laid out farms and villages, invited 
immigration, and advertised far and wide over the 
civilized earth the cheapness of his lands, the fertil- 
ity of the soil, and the healthfulness of the climate. 
People came, saw, bought and took up their resi- 
dences there; and so it came to pass that while Mr. 
Skinner amassed a fortune, thirty or forty thousand 
persons acquired cheap homes, beautiful towns dotted 
the former desert, and vines, and peach-trees, and 
waving grain stood in luxuriant growth where nature 
had for centuries supplied nothing but vegetation 
that was useless to man. 

Mr. Skinner was, in a high and noble sense, a bene- 
factor of his race. The man who turns a great wil- 

( 242 ) 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 243 


demess into a lovely garden, as he did, deserves even 
a richer reward than he counted when he summed 
up his profits. 

Mr. Skinner was traveling through Europe for 
enjoyment. He was a man who had had little educa- 
tion in his boyhood; but he had read much, and 
thought much; and concerning the practical affairs 
of life he was fairly well informed. He was a prac- 
tical man, and he prided himself upon the fact. There 
was no nonsense about him, and not a great deal of 
sentiment, excepting that which has a basis of solid 
common sense. The natural movement of his mind 
was always toward the bottom facts; and where a 
matter was clearly within human ken he never ac- 
cepted theory, or tradition, or guesswork, but pro- 
ceeded to examine it for himself in his own way, and 
to form his own conclusions. 

The contempt entertained by Mr. Skinner for some 
of the methods, ideas, and superstitions which he 
encountered during his journeying, could hardly be 
expressed, and he did not often try. He fully real- 
ized that everybody’s way could not be his way; 
that large allowance must be made for differences of 
condition in which men are brought up, and that 
only a fool goes through the world condemning aloud 
everything that does not conform to his standard. 
But Mr. Skinner was not a silent man. He liked 
to talk, and he talked with directness and confidence. 
He was utterly simple, and without affectation — so 
much so, that those who had been accumstomed 
to stand in awe of persons whom Mr. Skinner never 
hesitated to regard with easy familiarity, mistook for 


244 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


rudeness what was really nothing but absolute un- 
consciousness that there was any occasion for a mani- 
festation of reverence. A man of intense simplicity 
is apt to give great offence to those who are keenly 
sensitive to the requirements of a very artificial 
etiquette; and Mr. Skinner often did so. But he 
never willingly offended, for a kinder heart than his 
never beat in a human bosom. 

Mr. Skinner was reading a book as he sat with his 
feet nearly as high as his head. It was a Traveler’s 
Guide, and the passage that interested him at that 
moment described the Horselberg, just beyond Eise- 
nach, and told in a very prosy way the wonderful 
story of Tannhauser. 

Mr. Skinner had never encountered that legend 
before. He read it through twice, first hurriedly, 
and then more carefully. Then he turned the book 
over upon the table rose from his chair, and went 
to the window. 

He looked out, and there, in full view, was the 
very mountain alluded to in the story. Mr. Skinner 
stood for several minutes gazing at it, with his hands 
behind his back. He appeared to be considering 
something. Presently he turned about and rang 
the bell. When the waiter appeared, Mr. Skinner 
said to him in English: 

“What mountain is that, over there?” 

“ The Horselberg, sir.” 

“Is that the hill Tannhauser went into?” 

“Yes, sir; so they say.” 

“You’ve read about it, have you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 245 


“Do you believe that story?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, sir. I think I do. Every- 
body here believes it.” 

“Ever been over there?” 

“Many a time, sir.” 

“To the place where Tannhauser got in?” 

“That’s what they say, sir.” 

“I want you to take me to that spot.” 

“All right, sir; when?” 

“Late this afternoon. I want to get there by 
the shortest known route.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

“You come into this room at seven o’clock pre- 
cisely, and I’ll be ready.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the man, as he withdrew. 

As Mr. Skinner walked back to the window to take 
another look at the mountain, he said to himself: 

“If there’s anything in that story I’m going to 
find it out. If Tannhauser could get in, why can’t 
I get in? And if I do get in, I’ll bet a dollar I’ll play 
a better hand than he played, see if I don’t!” 

Then Mr. Skinner sat down by the table and be- 
gan his eleventh letter to the Barnegat Advertiser , 
the newspaper through which he conveyed to the peo- 
ple at home his impressions of Europe. 

At seven o’clock Mr. Skinner was in the room 
equipped for his undertaking. He had a traveler’s 
satchel containing a few articles swung over his shoul- 
der; he had placed a loaded revolver in his pocket; 
upon his arm was a light overcoat, and in his hand 
he carried an umbrella. 

Presently the servant entered, and ordering him 


246 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


to lead the way, Mr. Skinner started, stopping for 
a moment as he went out to address a note to the 
proprietor of the hotel, who was temporarily absent. 

After a long walk, and some rather stiff climbing, 
the goal was reached. 

“This is the place, is it?” asked Mr. Skinner. 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Humph! Well, you can go home now,” said 
Mr. Skinner, putting a bit of money into the man’s 
hand. 

“Not going back with me, sir?” 

“No; I intend to stay here all night. I’ll return 
in the morning, most likely. You needn’t wait.” 

The man looked at him with mingled amazement 
and curiosity, but as it was plainly apparent from 
Mr. Skinner’s manner that he was not convulsed by 
extraordinary emotion of any kind, and was neither 
contemplating suicide, nor likely to be much affected 
by supernaturual manifestations if any should appear, 
the man turned slowly about and began to retrace 
his steps. 

It was early twilight, and Mr. Skinner’s first act 
was to take a look at the place. It was upon the 
mountain’s side, a sort of a small plateau, covered 
with grass and a sparse underbrush. The mountain 
rose high and black above him, bare and rugged on 
the top. Trees were thickly clustered upon each 
side of the plateau, and beneath him in front the 
ground sloped away somewhat precipitously, its 
sides clothed with verdure, excepting here and there 
where the rain had washed the earth into gullies, 
or the stones had slid downward and marked their 
narrow paths by stripping away the grass. 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 247 


Out beyond the base of the mountain he could 
perceive through the gathering dusk the indistinct 
outlines of the town, with now and then a light shin- 
ing from a window. 

Mr. Skinner admitted to himself that the loneliness 
of the place was somewhat oppressive; but he was in 
search of truth, and he had not expected to be quite 
so confortable as he would have been at the hotel. 

It grew darker, and the air became chilly. Mr. 
Skinner put on his overcoat; then he threw his um- 
brella upon the ground, seated himself upon it, and 
lighted a cigar. Upon the whole it was not disagree- 
able; there was a flavor of adventure about it which 
pleased him. 

As the darkness deepened the lights in the town 
increased in number, and he even thought he could 
distinguish his hotel by the glow about the front 
windows. 

It was a magnificent night. The stars twinkled 
brightly as he looked up at them, and he felt a good 
deal of satisfaction in recognizing most of the con- 
stellations. Those were the very planets that he used 
to study from his own front porch at Squan. They 
had an air of old acquaintanceship which was delight- 
ful. He had not seen anything since he left the 
States that reminded him so strongly of home. It 
was a little odd to think of those heavenly bodies 
sweeping over Squan, missing him, and after crossing 
the continent and the Pacific Ocean finding him sit- 
ting on his umbrella out here on a wild mountain in 
Germany. 

The damp earth and the heavy odors of the vege- 


248 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


tation about him brought up peculiar recollections 
also. We remember smells longer than anything 
else in our experience. The Horselberg, on that 
calm and peaceful night, had the odors that greeted 
his nostrils on the second night at Gettysburg, when 
he lay upon the hillside, in the dusk, with his regiment, 
too weary of blood and carnage even to think of to- 
morrow’s battle, which would bring death to thou- 
sands about him, and woe to other thousands far 
away from the battlefield. 

And so he mused and smoked, and smoked and 
mused, as the hours went slowly by. Once or twice 
he caught himself nodding; and then he would rise 
and walk about a little space to rouse himself. 

At last, however, his thoughts became confused, and 
he knew no more until suddenly he was conscious of 
the faint reverberations of a distant town clock. He 
counted the strokes mechanically, and there were 

TWELVE. 

He had been asleep quite an hour. He was about 
to get up and walk again, when he heard a noise close 
to him, very faint, but distinct and musical. In a 
moment he saw that the turf about him was lighted 
by a glow softer and less clear than moonlight; and 
he perceived that a host of tiny figures capered about 
amid the grass. 

All of his senses instantly were upon the alert. He 
pressed his finger-nails strongly against his palm, 
to be sure that he was not dreaming. No, he was 
wide awake — he thought himself sure of that; and 
although he felt a most intense curiosity, and he 
realized that his heart was beating with accelerated 
motion, he was perfectly cool and fearless. 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 249 


Looking steadfastly, he could perceive that the 
moving creatures were miniature men and women, 
dressed in fantastic garb. They danced about to and 
fro, here and there, uttering few sounds and seeming 
wholly unconscious of the presence of an observer. 
Mr. Skinner knew that they were elves; they be- 
longed to the story of Tannhauser. 

An hour ago he did not believe in the existence of 
such beings. Would anybody believe him when he 
should relate his experiences? What would the solid, 
practical common-sense of Squan respond to a story 
of an actual experience with elves? He had an instinc- 
tive feeling that it would never do to include any- 
thing of that kind in his next letter to the Barnegat 
Advertiser. 

Mr. Skinner sat perfectly still, and watched the 
pretty creatures making their evolutions. He had 
half a notion at one time to put out his hand sud- 
denly, and seize a couple of them. There was a 
fortune waiting for the showman who should offer 
such an attraction to the people. Tom Thumb and 
his kind would be nowhere compared with such atoms 
as these. But he thought better of it. They seemed 
so innocent and happy that he could not bear to 
injure one of them. And for money too! He had 
enough of that without doing a cowardly action 
for the sake of it. 

They came nearer and nearer to him, and he could 
see that they were numbered by tens of thousands. 
Every blade of grass and every barley-corn of earth 
swarmed with them. They danced, and rolled, and 
kicked, and leaped, and tumbled; and as they came 
to his side and turned somersaults upon the ferule of 


250 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


his umbrella, some of them began to throw their caps 
into the air. One cap finally fell upon his hand. 
He did not mean to do it, but, somehow, involun- 
tarily, his fingers closed upon it. In the twinkling 
of an eye the whole army of elves vanished, the glow 
faded from the grass, and there was silence and deep 
darkness. 

“ Queer!” muttered Mr. Skinner to himself; “all 
gone, every imp of them. Let’s see what it is I’ve 
got, anyhow.” 

He struck a match and looked. It was a tiny 
cap, too small to go upon the end of his finger. 

“Well, there’s something like proof if I ever want 
to tell what I saw! I’ll keep it.” 

He never knew precisely whence came the impulse 
that moved him to do so absurd a thing as to remove 
his hat and to place that little thimble of a cap upon 
his head; but he did so, and no sooner had it touched 
his crown than there was heard a sound of rushing 
wind and a confused murmur of voices. He felt him- 
self whirled about by some unseen force, and before 
he could make a movement of resistance, he found 
himself lying in what appeared to be a dimly-lighted 
cavern, flat upon his back, with his umbrella in one 
hand and his hat in the other. 

II. 

“Not very pleasant,” said Mr. Skinner, as he sat 
up and looked around; “but it’s original and mighty 
interesting! I’d pay a reasonable price to know what 
it was that picked me up and flung me in here. I 
didn’t see a thing. I’m in for it now, though, sure 
as you’re born.” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 251 


Mr. Skinner got upon his feet, and after feeling 
his revolver, to ascertain if it was handy for use, he 
examined the cavern. It had rocky walls, absolutely 
bare, unless where stalactites here and there hung 
from the roof. Straight before him it opened through 
a narrow way into a space beyond, of which he could 
see little, excepting that far, far in the distance he 
discerned what appeared to be a mere point of very 
brilliant light. 

Hardly had he gotten upright than the walls of the 
cavern rang suddenly with a chorus of wild, shrieking 
laughter. 

Slightly startled by this fiendish noise, he looked and 
saw coming toward him swiftly what looked something 
like a squall of snow. Before he could think about 
it, he was enveloped by a crowd of figures of misty 
whiteness, which swept round and about him with 
amazing velocity. 

It was a moment or two before he could realize 
precisely what was the matter; but he soon began 
to mark the outlines of hideous forms, which grinned 
at him in a horrible fashion and seemed to menace 
him. 

“ Ghosts! or my name is not Skinner! Well, I 
never thought I’d strike anything like this!” 

The whirlwind of shadows encircled him with accel- 
erated speed, and as they came closer and closer to 
him, the demoniacal yells became more fierce and 
terrible. Mr. Skinner was surprised at his own 
calmness. Leaning upon his umbrella, he observed 
the performance with rather a critical air, and after a 
brief interval of silence he remarked, without being 
certain that he was addressing anyone in particular: 


252 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“It’s of no use. You can’t scare me with any of 
your whooping and howling. I can stand this sort 
of thing as long as you can. I’m not one of the hys- 
terical kind.” 

Still the spectral storm raged wildly about him, 
and still the cavern echoed the voices that came out 
of the tempest. 

“Oh well!” said Mr. Skinner, at last, sitting quietly 
down and crossing one leg over the other, “if it 
makes you feel better to waltz around that way, just 
go on! I can wait! Only I’m going to explore this 
den, if I have to stay here a week to do it!” 

Suddenly, as he spoke, the ghostly crowd left him 
and flew shrieking down the passage whence it came. 
One figure alone stood before Mr. Skinner. It looked 
somewhat like an old man, with long hair and beard, 
and with a face of majestic sternness. 

Mr. Skinner saw the form so vividly that he at 
first thought it to be a real human being; but when 
it stood between him and the passage-way, and he 
perceived that he could see the distant light through 
the old man’s mantle, he comprehended that he had 
a genuine ghost to deal with. 

“Unhappy man,” said the spectre, “why did 
you dare to penetrate to this secret chamber?” 

“Well, in the first place, I’m a free and independ- 
ent American citizen, traveling upon a passport signed 
by the Secretary of State, and I’ve got a right to go 
where anybody else goes; and, in the second place, 
I was pitched in here, head over heels, without my 
consent, by some of your people.” 

“Are you not afraid to stand in the presence of the 
awful spirits of the dead? ” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 253 


“No, I’m not! Certainly not! You can’t frighten 
me? What are you, anyhow? You’re nothing but a 
little bit of vapor, or carbonic-acid gas, or something. 
If there were a chimney here and a strong draught, 
you’d be sucked up the flue. You couldn’t help 
yourself. Afraid! I’m not afraid of anything I can 
poke my umbrella through, like that, and that!” 
and Mr. Skinner stirred about with his umbrella in the 
middle of the spectre. 

“You are very audacious; but you will never 
escape from here,” said the ghost, solemnly; “never, 
never!” 

“I won’t? We’ll see about that. I’ve left my 
directions with the United States consul, down at 
the town below here, and if I’m not back again within 
a specified time, he’ll be up here and blow your old 
mountain to flinders! You don’t seem to be ac- 
quainted with the party you have to deal with.” 

“It is strange,” said the spectre, with the faintest 
suggestion of embarrassment in its hollow tones; 
“we are not used to being regarded with such calmness 
by mere mortals.” 

“I know it,” answered Mr. Skinner; “I know it. 
People generally are frightened into fits when they 
think they see a ghost; but I made up my mind long 
ago that if I ever met one I was going to investigate 
him. S’pose we sit down here and have a little talk? ” 

The spectre did not move; but it struck Mr. Skin- 
ner that he detected upon the misty countenance 
some evidence that the ghost felt that it was hardly 
holding its own. Mr. Skinner had the advantage, 
and he knew it. 


254 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“I want to ask you now, for example,” said Mr. 
Skinner, sitting and locking his fingers over his knee, 
“how it feels to be a disembodied spirit? Never 
hungry, are you?” 

The ghost slowly shook his head. 

“Costs you nothing for food; don’t have to buy 
any clothes; no aches or pains, or anything of that 
kind?” 

The spectre still nodded negatively. 

“I thought not,” said Mr. Skinner, “and nothing 
spent for traveling expenses either. I reckon, now, 
if you wanted to take a fly over to America you could 
get there in a jiffy: crawl through a keyhole when 
you felt like it too, I’ve no doubt?” 

“Yes,” said the ghost. 

“It’s mighty singular,” said Mr. Skinner, reflec- 
tively. “ I’ve felt that way myself at times, in dreams. 
It must be rather agreeable, upon the whole. No 
taxes and no work to do. But, say, what’s the fact 
about you fellows haunting houses and graveyards? 
Ever do anything of that kind?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“I wouldn’t have believed it two hours ago. But 
what’s the sense of it? What’s the use of scaring 
people with that kind of foolishness? Why don’t 
you keep off and behave?” 

“You could not understand it if I were to tell you.” 

“I’d like to have a chance to try, any way. But, 
no matter, let that pass. I wish you’d tell me, though, 
what’s going on in here. Whose place is it?” 

“These are the realms of Venus. You shall see 
them; I will lead you.” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 255 


“ Will you! That’s clever! I’m glad I met you!” 
and Mr. Skinner attempted to pat his companion 
on the back, but his hand went through the figure. 

“How soon will you be ready to start?” asked Mr. 
Skinner. 

“Now!” 

“All right! But wait a minute! No objection to 
my smoking, I suppose?” said Mr. Skinner, lighting 
a match. “Maybe you’ll have a cigar? Oh! excuse 
me; I forgot. Of course you don’t care for such 
things? Now,” said he, shouldering his umbrella, 
“if you’ll push ahead I’ll follow.” 

“I will go!” said the spectre. 

“One moment! As we are going to travel together 
I think I ought to — that is, I, — beg pardon, but have 
you a name?” 

“I am the Erl-king! One of the poets, Goethe, 
wrote of me. You have read it, perhaps.” 

“What! you don’t say! Yes, sir, that poem 
is in every ‘ Speaker’ in our school district. You 
ran off with a child. I tell you what, old man, it 
wouldn’t do to try any of those kidnaping pranks 
in our country; the people wouldn’t put up with them. 
Where is the little one?” 

“In the court chamber. You shall see.” 

The journey began. The pair entered the narrow 
passage-way, and Mr. Skinner, whose powers of 
observation were in full play, noted that the walls 
were cut so smoothly that not a crevice or scratch 
could be seen upon them. 

“That’s a mighty nice piece of work,” he said, 
rubbing his hand upon the wall. “How did you 
cut that? With hand tools or atmospheric drills?” 


256 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“It was not done by mortal hands !” said the shade. 

“No?” exclaimed Mr. Skinner, as the pair pro- 
ceeded upon their journey. “And this too!” he said, 
as they emerged into a long gallery higher and wider 
than the passage-way leading to it. “This beats 
any rock-cutting I have seen yet. I say, if anybody 
ever wanted to run a railroad tunnel through this 
mountain would your folks consider a proposition 
for a right of way?” 

The ghost slowly shook his head. 

“It’s a pity, too,” said Skinner, sadly, “for it don’t 
seem right to have work like that wasted.” 

“It’s not wasted,” said the goblin. 

“Well, of course, each of us looks at it differently. 
That’s only natural. Now, it strikes me that to 
bore a magnificent hole through a mountain for 
nothing else than for a parcel of goblins to prowl 
about in, is a sinful waste of effort. However, it’s 
none of my business.” 

As he spoke there was heard a faint sound of the 
crowing of a cock. 

“Halloa! What’s that? Sounds like a rooster!” 

“It is a cock crowing outside of us, upon the hill- 
top.” 

“Outside, eh? I thought at first maybe you 
kept chickens, and it struck me as kind of singular. 
I couldn’t imagine what a ghost wanted with poultry.” 

A few steps further on the pair came to the edge 
of a precipice, and Mr. Skinner could see, beneath, a 
black, rolling stream from which clouds of light vapor 
ascended; while upon the other side, perhaps a hun- 
dred feet distant, the rocks rose sheer and rugged to 
the level of the height upon which he stood. 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 257 


Across the chasm was a sort of bridge, not wider 
than a hand’s breadth, and having nothing but 
the naked footway to support the traveler who should 
try to cross it. 

“What is this?” asked Mr. Skinner. 

“This,” said the spectre, “is a river of boiling 
pitch, which must be passed by every mortal who 
penetrates to these realms.” 

“How do visitors get across?” 

“Upon this bridge. Some do not succeed. Dare 
you venture it? ” j. 

“I think I shall. Is it the custom to walk 
over?” 

“It is,” said the goblin, with what seemed to be a 
look of fiendish exultation upon its misty counte- 
nance. 

“Humph!” remarked Mr. Skinner. “Nobody can 
account for the foolishness that there is in the world. 
Now, my way of getting over is different. Hold 
my umbrella a moment; won’t you?” 

As the goblin could not comply with this request, 
Mr. Skinner put the umbrella under the top of his 
satchel. Then he got down and sat astride of the 
bridge and aided by his hands he made a series of small 
jumps which brought him safely to the other side in 
a few moments. 

The goblin was there to meet him, and Mr. Skin- 
ner noticed that it had an air of severe disappoint- 
ment. When he got upon his feet he said: 

“That is the poorest contrivance for crossing a 
stream that I ever saw. Why don’t you fit up some- 
thing better? ” 


17 


258 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“We are contented with it!” said the ghost, gloom- 
iiy. 

“I’ll tell you,” remarked Mr. Skinner, producmg 
a pencil, and making a calculation upon the back of 
an old letter which he fished from his pocket. “I 
know a man in my country who’ll run an iron truss 
bridge over that chasm for twenty-four hundred 
dollars, and keep it painted for ten years. Some- 
thing substantial and safe. If you say so I’ll write 
to him?” 

The goblin, with a mournful look, shook his head. 

“All right,” said Mr. Skinner, “it’s your concern 
and not mine. But, I’ll tell you, if money was any 
object with you there are people who’d give a hand- 
some bonus for the privilege of boring for oil right 
around here. I know, old man, from what I’ve seen 
in Pennsylvania, that there is petroleum where that 
pitch comes from. Do you care to speculate in the 
matter? No? Oh, very well, I thought it might 
be friendly to mention it.” 

As the shade of the Erl-king moved forward, with 
Mr. Skinner following, the character of the gallery 
underwent a change. The walls were separated by 
larger distances, and the vault above them rose to a 
greater height. The rocks, instead of showing their 
nakedness, began to display lavish adornment. Some- 
times they were covered with masses of trailing vines 
which hung from them in graceful festoons; some- 
times great bunches of beautiful ferns were clustered 
upon the walls, their long and feathery branches 
sweeping downward to the floor. At brief intervals 
the verdure gave place to a mosaic work of splendid 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 259 


jewels. Mr. Skinner was amazed to find hundreds 
of square feet of the walls glistening with diamonds, 
emeralds, rubies, amethysts, and other precious stones 
of enormous size, and cut with the most exquisite 
skill. 

The sun did not shine upon them, and there was 
no artificial light that he could discover; and yet the 
mass of jewels flooded the vast chamber with a radi- 
ance that dazzled his eyes. It was the most glorious 
vision that he had ever encountered. It surpassed 
in the richness of its coloring and the splendor of its 
wealth everything that he had ever read of in the 
Arabian Nights, or dreamed of as he pored over the 
wildest fairy tales. He trod upon a pavement en- 
crusted with stones, each one of which would have 
enriched an empire, and he saw about and above him 
walls inlaid with such superb art as no jeweler of 
mortal clay could hope to rival. 

His guide would have hurried on, but Mr. Skinner 
wanted to tarry a while and enjoy the spectacle. 
It is not every day, he thought, that a plain man has 
a chance to study such a scene. This alone, he said 
to himself, was worth all the trouble he had taken, 
and all the danger he had encountered. A descrip- 
tion of the chamber, in a letter to the Barnegat Ad- 
vertiser, would fill New Jersey with excitement; and, 
before the year was out, the Erl-king’s goblin . would 
have half a thousand Jerseymen knocking at his door 
and wanting to come in. 

“Ah!” said Mr. Skinner to his guide, "I know 
now why you do not want visitors. I understand 
why you would like them to tumble off of that bridge. 


260 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


You’ve got millions and millions of dollars invested 
there.” 

“This is nothing; they are baubles,” said the 
ghost. 

“What! Oh, well, of course they’re not of much 
use to you. But I think I could get some practical 
good out of half a bushel, or so. That diamond there, 
for example, would supply half the women in my 
State with breast-pins, and make them perfectly 
happy. Are you handing any of these around — 
among your friends, I mean?” 

The ghost made no sign of affirmation, and Mr. 
Skinner added, as he gave a final look at the display, 
“No matter. I don’t covet them. Only, I thought 
it would be nice to take one or two along, to remem- 
ber you by.” 

“You will not find it easy to forget me, in the place 
to which you are going,” answered the Erl-king, 
with what might have passed for a sneer. “See!” 
and the spectre waved its shadowy hand. 

Mr. Skinner turned and looked. Before him, at 
the foot of a gentle slope, lay a scene of weird and 
wonderful beauty. He saw a vast garden stretch- 
ing away in front of him, and to the right and the 
left, towards boundaries which, somehow, were so 
indistinctly defined that he could not surely say what 
were the dimensions of the place, or its proportions. 
It had not the wildness of undisturbed Nature, but 
still less did it appear with the symmetry of human 
art. The beautiful confusion into which the un- 
trained earth flings the forms that spring from her 
bosom, was not there. Some hand had prepared 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 261 


the outlines of the garden, but upon a scheme such 
as no mortal man could have devised. There were 
grace and beauty, but these were evolved from an 
order which was elfish in its eccentricity, and which 
appeared even wilder than chance itself. 

There were myriads of walks twisting and writh- 
ing into strangest shapes, beginning nowhere and 
leading no whither; and these ran in and out among 
fantastic groupings of shrubbery, which expressed 
no definite notions of forms, but conveyed suggestions 
of a purpose to fill the mind of the observer with a 
sense of the uncanny. 

The trees were covered with foliage which had 
a greenness not precisely that of the outer world, 
but so differing from it that one could not tell pre- 
cisely wherein the difference lay. The sward, of the 
same strange hue, was covered with flowers of novel 
and peculiar shapes, and glowing with colors that had 
no counterpart in nature. Here and there cataracts 
fell from eminences upon the plain, but the water, 
as it tumbled, was governed by some force which 
turned it into queer figures, so that one might imagine 
it to possess life and volition of its own. 

After its descent, it ran away through tortuous 
channels among the grasses, bubbling, and leaping, and 
playing fantastic tricks, as no earthly water could 
have done. The fountains that burst upward from 
the plain at various points, also dashed and flashed 
in obedience to some law which was excepted from 
the code of nature. 

A flood of strong and penetrating light poured 
over the whole garden; but there was no sunshine, no 


262 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


distinct radiance of any kind. The shadows merged 
into the light imperceptibly, and the waters gave 
back but a faint reflection to the source of their illumi- 
nation. The leaves danced and fluttered, and the 
surface of the streams was lightly ruffled, but there 
was no breeze; the birds flew about upon odd courses 
from bush to tree; and they seemed to sing; but no 
note of their music fell upon the ear. The cataracts 
tumbled in silence, no sound of the falling waters 
came from the fountains. 

There was splendor and beauty, but over it all 
was the hush of death. It was a place that might 
have been made a home for joy, but it was joyless 
and horrible. There was life, movement, activity; 
but only such animation as that which stirs within 
the realms of dreamland — mysterious, noiseless and 
unreal. 

As Mr. Skinner looked down upon the scene he 
realized these things, and, perhaps, for a moment, 
he had a sense of oppression, as though he were in a 
nightmare. But he readily freed himself from this 
feeling, and his curiosity was strongly excited as he 
noted several figures, apparently human beings, 
passing slowly to and fro, in attitudes of dejection, 
along the avenues of the garden. 

“Who are those people?” he asked of his guide. 

“ Those are mortal men who have come here as 
you have come, and whose fate it is to linger here 
for ever.” 

“Why don’t they quit and go home?” 

“Only two of all who have entered this realm have 
gone away, and they returned when they were sum- 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 263 


moned. That is the doom of all; to tarry or to 
return.” 

“Who were the two?” 

“Tannhauser and Thomas of Erceldoune.” 

“Are they down there now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll get you to introduce 
me. I would like to know one of them.” 

They walked down the declivity and into the gar- 
den. Mr. Skinner examined everything carefully. 

“Land like that,” he said, pointing to a grassy 
tract which stretched away to the left, “would bring 
forty dollars an acre in West Jersey. I know a man 
who gave that price for some not quite so good.” 

The ghost made no reply. 

“I don’t see,” continued Mr. Skinner, “that you 
do much with the property. Now, there’s a field I 
know would be first-rate for watermelons and sweet 
potatoes; a fight, sandy soil, but rich and easily 
ploughed. If I were you I’d put at least an acre in 
melons and another in tomatoes and lima beans; but 
then, of course,” said Mr. Skinner, suddenly remem- 
bering the unsubstantial nature of his companion, 
“you don’t care as much for such things as I do. 
It’s a pity, though, so much territory going unim- 
proved. It would be far better for those people 
there if they had a regular job of spading and hoeing 
to do every day.” 

They walked on as he spoke, and as they passed a 
tree that was filled with fruit Mr. Skinner plucked 
from the branches something that looked like an 
apple. When he bit it, he found that it was but a 
mass of dust. 


264 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“A decent cider apple-tree would be a blessing in 
such a place as this, ” he said. 

“This,” said the goblin, pausing near to one of the 
wanderers in the garden, “is Thomas of Erceldoune.” 

The man turned as his name was uttered, and Mr. 
Skinner went up, with some vivacity of manner, 
seized his hand and shook it. 

“Glad to know you! I’ve met nobody since I 
came in here but my ghostly friend and some others 
like him, and it’s a satisfaction to meet a genuine 
man.” 

“Alas!” said Thomas, sadly, “is still another vic- 
tim added to those who have come here to find end- 
less misery?” 

“You don’t take exactly the right view of it,” said 
Mr. Skinner, cheerily, “I am not a victim. Not a 
bit of it.” 

Mr. Skinner felt a deep pity in his heart for this 
wretched man. He could not determine clearly 
whether Thomas of Erceldoune was young or old. 
He looked as if he might not have lived more than 
three decades, and yet there was something about 
him that suggested vigorous manhood which had 
been suddenly stopped in its development and kept 
for untold years precisely at the point at which it 
was when its forces were petrified. The air of sad- 
ness that he wore was the visible sign of despair. 
From this man’s soul hope had flown for ever and for 
ever. 

“How long have you been here?” asked Mr. Skin- 
ner. 

“I do not know. Sometimes I think but a day; 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 265 


at others I seem to have dwelt here for a thousand 
years. It was in the fifteenth century that I left my 
earthly home for the last time.” 

“You don’t say? Why, that’s nearly four hun- 
dred years!” 

“Yes; it must be so long.” 

“How did you get here?” 

“I came first to gratify my curiosity. Then I 
was permitted to go back to my home. But I knew 
that they would summon me; I knew it! And one 
day while I made merry at a feast with my friends, 
one came to tell me that a hart and a hind were com- 
ing up the highway to my door. No one but myself 
perceived that my time had come. But I was con- 
scious of the meaning of the visit of those strange 
messengers, so I arose and followed them away, away, 
blinded by my tears and my misery, until they led 
me here.” 

“Do you know what I would have done if I had 
been you?” asked Mr. Skinner. 

“No.” 

“Why, well, instead of quitting home I should have 
had venison for supper.” 

“That is a strange thing to hear in this place.” 

“I know, but I mean it! See here, old fellow, cheer 
up! You’re mistaken if you think I am going to stay 
in here. Indeed I’m not. And if you will come 
along with me, and stick to me, I’ll run you out when 
I go. I don’t know exactly how, but I’ll do it if I 
say so!” 

“It cannot be!” 

“Oh, come now, that is nonsense! If I get you off 


266 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


you can go over the ocean with me. Ell settle you on 
a little place somewhere in Atlantic County, make 
you snug and comfortable, and you can start fresh in 
life. Is it a bargain?” 

“ Impossible!” 

“I don’t know that you care much for politics; 
but if you come with me to New Jersey, and you’re 
in want of money, I could arrange, maybe, to have 
you run for something — the Legislature, or some 
other paying office, enough to make you easy. Let 
me see; are you an Irishman? ” 

“I am from Scotland.” 

“ Scotch, hey? Well, that is unfortunate! You’d 
have a much better chance in my country if you were 
Irish. We Americans think we rule ourselves; but 
we don’t. The Irish govern us ! But I’ll do the best 
I can for you, so get together your things and come 
along.” 

But Thomas of Erceldoune did not answer. He 
hung his head, and turning about slowly walked away. 

“ Won’t come, eh?” said Skinner. 

The retreating figure shook its head slowly and 
mournfully. 

“ Young man,” called Mr. Skinner, “you may 
never have another chance like this. It’s the wildest 
nonsense to reject it. You come along with me and 
we’ll stir up this den of goblins so that they’ll be glad 
to get rid of us at any price. I’ll take you under the 
protection of the American flag, and we’ll see whether 
anybody will dare to hold us! Won’t go? Well, it’s 
too bad! too bad!” and Mr. Skinner looked after 
the unhappy man, and watched him until he dis- 
appeared behind the shrubbery. 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 267 


“No, he will not go,” said the goblin. “He knows 
better than you do the awful power that holds you 
both in thrall.” 

“Not both, old gentleman. I see you are still de- 
luding your cloudy noddle with the idea that I am 
going to stay.” 

“You will stay,” answered the goblin, “and, as it 
did to Thomas of Erceldoune, so a hundred years 
will seem to you but a swiftly passing day.” 

“Ah, my venerable friend,” replied Mr. Skinner, 
“you can’t play that upon me. I have an American 
lever watch and a pocket calendar for the current 
year. There’ll be no time rolling by without my 
knowing it.” 

“We shall see,” answered the ghost, with an air of 
not feeling quite so certain about it as he had done 
before. 

“And, meanwhile,” said Mr. Skinner, “s’pose we 
push on and complete this exploration. I want to 
see the end of the journey.” 

III. 

The spirit of the Erl-king made no reply, but drift- 
ing slowly across the garden it entered the portal of 
what seemed to be a vast building of some kind, 
though so puzzling and uncertain were its outlines, 
and so indistinct the light that shone about the place, 
that Mr. Skinner could not by most careful scrutiny 
determine if it were really a structure, or a wall of 
the solid rock hewn into symmetrical shape. 

He followed his guide through the doorway, along 
a wide hall which rang beneath his footsteps, and 


268 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


thence through another wide portal into a long cham- 
ber of such height as he could not clearly discern. 
A table stretched from one end of the room to the 
other, and gathered about it was a great host of 
figures, whose grayish whiteness could be perceived 
without difficulty through the dusky atmosphere. 

“This,” said the goblin, “is the Hall of Heroes. 
Here are gathered the immortal parts of men whose 
deeds upon earth have made their fame eternal.” 

“Soldiers, I reckon,” said Mr. Skinner. “Who are 
they? ” 

“There,” replied the ghost, “sits Arthur, and about 
him are gathered the glorious Knights of the Round 
Table. All are there, the true and the false together. 
There is Charlemagne with his warriors, his crown 
upon his head, his good sword by his side. Near to 
him Red-Bearded Frederick sits with his six knights. 
Thrice his beard enwraps the stony table in front of 
him, and thrice more still must it enfold it.” 

“Why doesn’t he shave?” asked Mr. Skinner 
calmly. 

“Here,” said the spectre, not deigning to reply, 
“the three great Tells join with the throng. The 
legend is that they sleep a mortal sleep within the 
mountain. But their eyes of sense will never more 
unclose. And with them are the shades of valiant 
men of all degrees, a company of the mighty and the 
heroic.” 

“What are they at?” asked Mr. Skinner. 

“It is a festival. They sit here, shadows of their 
ancient selves, but with souls that feel the impulse 
of the former fires, to hold revel and to recount the 
deeds of the wondrous past.” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 269 


“A kind of a dinner party/’ suggested Mr. Skin- 
ner. “I’d like to join them. I don’t see anything 
to eat; but I s’pose I am safe to get a spectral steak 
or a goblin chop, and that’s enough when a man is 
not hungry.” 

“ Beware how you thrust yourself upon these awful 
shades!” said the Erl-king. “They will not brook 
levity or familiarity.” 

“I guess I will sit at the table and look on, anyhow.” 
And Mr. Skinner, advancing, took a seat tolerably 
close to one of the ghosts, and, assuming an easy 
attitude, observed them. 

There was a murmur of voices among them, but 
of voices such as no tongue ever shaped into words. 
And ever and anon the warriors, who seemed clad 
cap-a-pie in ghostly armor, moved as if to raise beak- 
ers to their lips, and to drain them to the dregs. No- 
body appeared to notice Mr. Skinner’s presence; 
but after a while that gentleman began to display 
signs of uneasiness, and, presently rising, clearing his 
throat, and looking calmly around, he said, as if he 
were addressing an ordinary meeting of mortals: 

“Gentlemen, your chairman has not called upon 
me to respond to any sentiment, possibly because he’s 
not familiar with the modem custom upon festive 
occasions, or perhaps because, not knowing me, he 
may have persuaded himself that I would feel some 
diffidence in addressing such a company. I do not 
wish to obtrude my opinions upon you; but since 
my entrance to these regions, I have acquired the 
conviction that it would be an act of philanthropy 
for an intelligent outsider like myself to make an 


270 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


effort to freshen up your views a little. I intend, 
therefore, to offer a few remarks, which I trust will 
be received in the spirit of friendliness which moves 
me to present them. 

“Of course, gentlemen, my notions of things must 
inevitably differ widely from yours. You were dead 
and buried hundreds of years ago, and your sym- 
pathies are largely with a past that was wholly ignor- 
ant of matters of high importance with which I am 
perfectly familiar; and I have the additional advan- 
tage of still possessing a physical body, and not being 
compelled to stay underground all day, and to go out 
only at night, and even then presenting the appear- 
ance of having been sliced out of a fog-bank.” 

Here the Erl-king cautioned Mr. Skinner not to 
go on. But he continued: 

“Without going deeply into the work of contrasting 
the methods of your time with the methods of mine, 
I may be permitted to remark upon the oddity of the 
circumstance that while individual soldiers of your 
age encased themselves with iron stove-plates and 
helmets, the vaporous semblance of which you now 
wear, we have adapted such means of protection 
only to ships, with the result that the chief purpose 
of the existence of a portion of mankind just now is 
to make ships that no existing gun can penetrate, 
and when that is done, to invent a gun that can sink 
that ship. 

“The point of interest is that men are still as busy 
killing each other as they were when you were around; 
and that while we are proud to pity the ignorance 
and folly which characterized you when you spent 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 271 


your lives in fighting, we have not become so wise 
as to perceive that to settle a quarrel by shooting 
men with a revolving cannon is not any more sen- 
sible than to chop them up with axes and to brain 
them with clubs, as you folks used to do.” 

The Erl-king hinted to Mr. Skinner that he was 
touching a delicate subject; but the speaker pro- 
ceeded : 

4 ‘However, the matter to which I wished princi- 
pally to allude interests you more directly. I say, 
frankly, that until I dropped in here, I never had any 
solid faith in the reality of ghosts. I regarded the 
whole thing as a mass of superstition. I see now 
that I was wrong. But having confessed this much, 
I think I ought to say to you, who probably have some 
influence over the affairs of your kind, that the sooner 
some one of you starts an energetic reform move- 
ment in the ghost business, the better will be the 
result. Gentlemen, I am a practical man — a utili- 
tarian, if you will; and I must say that it grieves me, 
when I look around upon this grave and dignified 
company, to think of the ridiculous character of the 
methods in which you manifest yourselves to man- 
kind. If I were a goblin, and I retained a particle 
of my self-respect, I would keep away from grave- 
yards at night; I would refrain from haunting houses, 
and prowling about, making noises to scare timid 
women and children; I would refuse to come out at 
so-called spiritual seances and thrum diabolical music 
upon cracked guitars, and tilt tables at the bidding 
of long-haired and wild-eyed mediums. If a ghost 
who has been respectable in life cannot put in his 


272 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


spare time in the outer world in better ways than 
these, my advice to him is to stay in the bowels of 
the earth right along, and to let honest people alone. ,, 

The Erl-king mentioned to Mr. Skinner that they 
must move on at once. But Mr. Skinner said that he 
would close in a moment. 

“ Apart from the silliness of such proceedings, 
gentlemen, they are disgustingly useless. Now, if 
I were a ghost I would use my powers to reveal to 
living men truths that would be of service to them 
— such as knowledge of the spiritual state, and infor- 
mation, perhaps, as to the location of veins of coal, of 
the metals, and so forth; or, if these things were 
forbidden, I would rent myself out for exhibition 
for the benefit of good objects of various kinds. A 
genuine ghost, for example, could always find employ- 
ment when Hamlet or Macbeth is performed at the 
theaters; and if you can flit about with the rapidity 
commonly attributed to you, some of you might 
earn good wages carrying messages for persons to 
places which the telegraph does not reach.” 

The Erl-king said that there would be danger in 
speaking further; but Mr. Skinner added: 

“One word more. You hold in wicked bondage 
down here in the garden a lot of people who have a 
right to their liberty. Now, what good it does you, 
or the head person who governs this place, to prac- 
tice cruelty of that kind, I can’t imagine. My opinion 
is that you ought to let them go, and to give them 
each a pocketful of the jewelry I saw back here a 
piece, for damages done to them. If you don’t agree 
to this I intend as soon as I return to my hotel to get 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 273 


out a writ of habeas corpus, if such a thing is to be 
had in the German Empire; and most likely, if there 
is any fuss made about it, I will organize a railroad 
to run along here, and I will have a locomotive whiz- 
zing through this mountain in a way that will make 
you wish you could die again! That is all I have 
to say. I am obliged to you for your attention; and 
if any of you ever want to communicate with me don’t 
hunt up a medium, but come direct to me at Squan, 
New Jersey, in the day-time, and if the light annoys 
you we’ll have a comfortable talk in the cellar or the 
smoke-house.” 

While Mr. Skinner was speaking the assembly 
sat in profound silence, and upon some of the faces 
could be detected a look of bewildered amazement. 
When he finished, he said politely: 

“Good morning,” and turned to go. 

“How do you think it struck them?” asked Mr. 
Skinner of his companion. 

“You are a marvelous man, and a bold one,” 
replied the spectre, almost timidly. “I thought they 
would rend you in pieces. Strange! Strange! that 
such things should happen within these realms.” 

“I told you I’d give you some new ideas,” said 
Mr. Skinner; “and now, which way are we go- 
ing?” 

“Straight forward.” 

“And what then?” 

“Soon you will be ushered into the splendid court 
of Aphrodite, the mistress of these realms, and the 
power whom you and I and all must obey.” 

“A ghost, is she?” 


18 


274 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“A being of transcendent and wondrous loveli- 
ness/ ’ 

“Well, let me know before I get there, for I should 
like to fix myself up a little.” 

They pressed onward through a succession of 
apartments, each of which was more magnificent 
than that which preceded it, until they entered a 
chamber that was adorned with strange but beauti- 
ful objects. 

“That,” said the guide, “is a plant which gives 
to him who possesses it the power to ward off evil 
spirits. He who looks in this mirror sees all his future 
life in full detail depicted before him. The water of 
yonder bubbling fountain compels complete forget- 
fulness of the past. He who eats of the fruit that lies 
upon this table gains such vision that he can see the 
riches that are hidden in the bosom of the earth. 
Here are gathered all the resources of magic, and all 
the marvels that men have dreamed of when they 
have thought to pierce the veil that shuts out the 
supernatural from the natural.” 

“When you get tired of making an inventory of 
the effects,” said Mr. Skinner, “perhaps you will 
come along.” 

“We are now,” said the goblin, reverently, “upon 
the threshold of the throne-room of the glorious 
Aphrodite. Through that doorway we shall be 
ushered into her majestic presence.” 

“Wait a minute, then.” And Mr. Skinner, un- 
slinging his satchel, placed it upon the table, among 
the fruit that improved the eyesight, and began 
rummaging in its depths. A moment later he took 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 275 


out a clean collar and a hair-brush. Placing himself 
before the mirror of life-to-come, he untied his cravat, 
removed his shirt-collar, put it carefully in his satchel, 
buttoned on the fresh one, tied his cravat, gave it two 
or three pats with his fingers, and then surveyed it 
with a look of satisfaction. Then taking off his hat, 
he smoothed his hair with the brush. When the 
operation was completed he returned the brush to 
the satchel, snapped the catch, resumed his hat, and, 
turning to the goblin, who observed him with what 
seemed feelings of horror, he said, “Now I am ready. 
Shall we go right in?’ 7 

The shade of the Erl-king approached the door, 
which swung slowly and silently upon its hinges. 
Mr. Skinner followed the goblin through the portal. 

The scene upon which he was ushered transcended 
in dazzling splendor anything that he had ever wit- 
nessed. He saw a vast temple, whose walls were 
massive slabs of gold and pearl, covered by some 
cunning hand with grotesque but beautiful designs 
of elaborate workmanship. Huge pillars of sapphire 
and emerald rose from the floor and swept upwards 
to a roof of snowy crystal, through which a clear, 
soft radiance poured in a flood which made every 
nook and corner of the apartment as bright as though 
the noonday sun looked in upon it. 

The floor was of onyx, laid in a wondrous pattern, 
such as no human mind has ever devised. The doors 
were made of ebony, inlaid with silver; and, at inter- 
vals, there stood tables of carved ivory, of amethyst, 
of frosted gold, and chairs of porphyry, and chrysolite, 
and sardius. Great mirrors of burnished silver hung 


276 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


from the walls, and before them tiny fountains leaped 
into the air and fell into jeweled basins. Upon all 
sides there were riches, beauty, magnificence, and 
exquisite art, such as no treasure-house upon earth 
ever presented to the eye of man. 

At the end of the room, beneath a canopy bespan- 
gled with gems, two golden thrones were placed, 
and sitting upon one of these the visitor saw a woman, 
so fair, so noble, so crowned with a matchless and 
wonderful beauty, that he thought all the loveliness 
of woman that he had ever looked upon was but 
as deformity in comparison with it. She was clad 
in a snowy robe of gossamer fineness and of most 
delicate grace; and upon her forehead glistened a dia- 
dem of jewels of surpassing splendor. About her, 
as she sat, were gathered a court of other women, 
scarcely less beautiful, and, as the visitor approached 
them, he heard strains of music of piercing sweetness, 
which swelled and throbbed through the crystal 
arches with vibrations which the ear might have 
heard for ever and for ever without satiety. 

As the visitor came nearer, it seemed to him that 
that glorious company had been expecting him, for, 
when the Erl-king said to him, “This is Aphrodite, 
the Queen,” she upon the throne smiled graciously 
upon him and gave him hearty welcome to her court, 
while those who surrounded her echoed her words, 
and appeared eager to do him honor. 

“All very well,” said Mr. Skinner, to himself; 
“but how about Tannhauser, and Thomas of Ercel- 
doune, and the other poor wretches in the garden? 
I have no doubt that they were received in the same 
manner.” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 277 


“We have waited for you,” said the Queen, most 
graciously, “and we rejoice that you have come to 
dwell with us. Happy is the mortal who is permitted 
to linger in the company of the immortals!” And 
she extended to him her white hand, that he might 
kiss it. 

Mr. Skinner grasped it, shook it warmly, and 
said: 

“Thank you, madame; you are very kind. I was 
traveling through the neighborhood, outside here, 
and I thought I’d just drop in. But I can’t stay. 
Sorry; but I have an engagement in Berlin on the 
twenty-second. ’ ’ 

“When you have tasted the delights of this realm 
you will not wish to go. The world from which you 
come has nothing to offer that can rival the fascina- 
tions of this.” 

“Well, madame, tastes differ, you know. This is 
gorgeous, and elegant, and all that; but, as a steady 
thing, I really think I should prefer Squan.” 

“Sit here,” said the Queen, pointing to the throne 
by her side. “It is the place of honor — it is yours. 
The greatest men of your race have longed to occupy 
it; some have done so, and counted it the highest 
pleasure.” 

“It’s handsome, that’s certain,” replied Skinner, 
running his hand over the golden carvings. “Hand- 
some, but I must say that I’ve seen furniture that 
would beat it for comfort. Now I wonder that, 
instead of sitting about on a hard yellow affair like 
this, you don’t order a few stuffed chairs, for common 
use? There’s a cabinet-maker, near where I live, 


278 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


that would get you up a dozen with springs for almost 
nothing, and be glad of the chance.” 

“You,” said the Queen, laughingly, “are the only 
guest who ever thought our temple less than fault- 
less/ ’ 

“Well, madame, I'm a prosy sort of a man, who 
always looks at the practical side of things. Now, 
do you know what I would do if I owned this place? ” 

“I cannot tell.” 

“Why, I would rig up some kind of a stove, and 
keep a coal fire going, to take off the chill. It must 
be dreadfully damp, underground here.” 

The Queen and her maids of honor laughed merrily 
at this, and Mr. Skinner thereupon added: 

“The best thing that I find here is a little good- 
humor. My friend, the Erl-king, here is much too 
solemn to be an agreeable companion. A week with 
him would make me melancholy for life.” 

“You shall always be merry here,” replied the 
Queen, with a sweet smile. “These are the realms 
of joy, and I will give you a better companion than 
your guide. Which of these will you choose to be 
your partner through all the years to come?” And 
she waved her hand toward the throng which stood 
beside her. 

“None of them, madame!” 

“What! None?” 

“Excuse me, madame, but I don't think you com- 
prehend the existing state of things. I am a married 
man already. In my home, far across the sea, I 
have a wife whom I love. She is not so handsome 
as these, maybe, but her homeliness is not actually 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 279 


alarming; and when it comes to housekeeping and 
plain cooking, she has no equal from the Hudson 
River to the Capes, if I do say it myself. While she 
lives I intend to stick to her.” 

Mr. Skinner was gratified to perceive that his 
remarks, uttered with some warmth, did not give 
offence. A ripple of laughter swept over the crowd. 

“You have not much love for the beautiful, I 
think,” said the Queen. 

“Oh, yes, madame. When it comes to good looks, 
this place takes the palm, without a doubt. I was 
aware of that. I have often seen statues of you, out 
in the world. A little scarce of clothes, if you will 
pardon me for saying so, but uncommonly handsome; 
everybody admits that.” 

“Men praise me, do they?” asked Aphrodite. 

“Oh, yes! Of course. In the matter of personal 
appearance, I mean. My guide-book, which I was 
reading over at the hotel, throws out an insinuation 
that there is a little too much paganism down here 
for Europe in the nineteenth century; but in the 
country that I come from we don’t meddle with peo- 
ple’s religious opinions.” 

The Queen made no response. 

“I do think, though,” continued Mr. Skinner, pass- 
ing one leg thoughtlessly over the arm of the throne 
and speaking reflectively, “that it might not be a bad 
idea to organize a missionary movement in these 
parts. There’s Elder Cooper of the Barnegat Meet- 
ing; he has a powerful gift as a persuader, and if 
you’d allow him to get up a revival-meeting in here 
somewhere, there is no telling what might happen.” 


280 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“We will not speak of that!” replied the Queen in 
a tone of light displeasure. 

“Beg pardon if I was rude. The thought occurred 
to me, and I expressed it frankly without meaning to 
hurt anybody’s feelings.” 

As he spoke he was surprised to see a great throng 
of children come running into the apartment. They 
gathered close about him and gazed at him with 
childish wonder. Mr. Skinner looked into their faces, 
and while it was clear that they really were children, 
it seemed to him that there was something about 
them which told of more years than their stature 
counted. They had all the signs of youth, and yet 
he could not rid himself of an impression that their 
youth had left them long centuries ago. 

As they ranged themselves before him, he said to 
the Queen : 

“Yours, madame?” 

“Oh, no! these are the little ones who left their 
homes in Hameln to follow the music of the Pied 
Piper.” 

“Seems to me I have heard something about it,” 
observed Mr. Skinner; “how long ago was it?” 

“Six centuries have passed since they came troop- 
ing into the mountain behind the Piper. One hun- 
dred and thirty of them came, and they are all here!” 

“Well, well!” replied Mr. Skinner, “it’s mighty 
queer, and sad too. How do you treat them?” 

“We love them.” 

“Do you educate them? No academies down 
here, I ’spose? Never let them go to Sunday-school? 
Would you mind then if I asked a few questions?” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 281 


“You shall do so.” 

Mr. Skinner stood up. 

“Put your hands behind your backs, children; 
that’s it; now hold up your heads and look straight 
at me. What is the capital of Indiana? Speak right 
out! Nobody knows? How is Ireland bounded? 
Come, answer! Don’t know? Well, I declare! 
How many are four and eight? ” 

The children stood silent, and eyed Mr. Skinner 
almost mournfully. 

“Well, now,” he proceeded to say, “let me try 
you in spelling. Can you spell ‘Baker’ for me? Begin 
‘B — !’ Goon! B-a- b-a-. Somebody try it! Can’t 
do it? I was afraid not. Can you spell ‘Boy’? Be- 
gins with a B, like the other! Don’t know that 
either!” 

The Queen said that they knew nothing of earthly 
things. 

“Well, madame, permit me to say that it’s a blamed 
shame the way the education of these children has 
been neglected. You want a schoolmistress down 
here worse than you want a parson. That’s my 
opinion, and I don’t care who knows it.” 

Mr. Skinner found himself getting angry and warm. 
Opening his satchel, he took out a package and said: 

“Children, here’s some candy for you. Hardly 
enough to go around, but it’s all I have, and there is 
no confectionery store handy. I’d give you some 
money to buy fire-crackers, too, only I know you’d 
never have a chance to spend it!” 

“You love little children, I perceive,” said Aphro- 
dite. 


282 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


“I do. I love them too well to like to see them 
poked underground alive, and kept there six or seven 
hundred years. It is a great wrong.” 

“They are very happy here.” 

“Well, maybe they are; but it's not the fair thing. 
I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You turn the whole batch 
over to me, and I’ll take them along, and either bind 
them out or stow them away in an orphan asylum, 
where they will be decently brought up. Is it a bar- 
gain? ” 

“We cannot part with them.” 

“Who takes care of them? Who washes and 
dresses them, and fixes them up? You have no 
servants? No? I hardly thought you could per- 
suade nursery maids to live underground here. That 
is the only advantage you have that I can see.” 

“What?” 

“No bother with the servant-girl question. It 
pesters the life out of women up above. The hired 
girl we had just before I left home,” said Mr. Skinner, 
with an absent look upon his face, as if his mind 
were contemplating some curious experience of the 
past, “parted with us because we complained of her 
frying the oysters in Mrs. Skinner’s pomatum.” 

Aphrodite did not seem especially interested in 
this fragment of domestic history, and she motioned 
for the children to go. As Mr. Skinner watched them 
moving away, he said, putting his hand in the satchel: 

“I just happened to think that I had a bottle of 
cough medicine along with me, that might be useful 
to the little ones. You are welcome to it if you want 
it.” 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 283 


Her Majesty apparently did not hear him, for she 
gave a signal, and again the hall was filled with the 
rapturous music that he had heard a brief while before. 
Instantly the floor was filled with beautiful dancers, 
who whirled about in riotous fury through a dance, 
which became wilder and wilder as it proceeded. 
Mr. Skinner observed the performance in silence. 

“Is it not beautiful? ” asked the Queen. 

“Beautiful,” replied Mr. Skinner; “but a little 
too violent for my taste.” 

“Shall you not join them?” 

“I am obliged to you; but it is with the utmost 
difficulty that I manage to hobble through a plain 
cotillion. Round dances I’m opposed to. If I should 
step in there I should be so giddy in a minute that I 
could not stand. Your music is fine though. Who, 
attends to that for you?” 

“The Pied Piper; his real name is Orpheus.” 

“Ah! I’m not a very good judge, although I know 
the best from the worst. I am a subscriber to the 
Barnegat Brass Band, down where I live, and that 
organization took the first prize at a brass band tour- 
nament at Newark last summer. Some think it is 
superior; but I don’t know. I have always had my 
doubts about it.” 

“Music is ever beautiful,” said the Queen. 

“Well, possibly, your experiences have been more 
favorable than mine. Sometimes when the band 
comes out serenading at night I incline to think that 
the art is overrated. Do you sing?” 

“No; I listen to the others.” 

“I’m not much of a singer myself,” said Mr. Skin- 


284 NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


ner, prodding an emerald tile in the pavement, ab- 
sently, with the ferule of his umbrella; “but when I 
am at home I do sometimes turn a tune in the privacy 
of my family.” 

“Will you sing for me? Oh, I know you will!” 
exclaimed the Queen. 

Mr. Skinner had a feeling of diffidence for the first 
time since he had entered the mountain. 

“Well, madame, I should like to oblige you, but, 
to tell the truth, I — my voice is so poor that ” 

“You will not refuse me?” 

“But I am such a poor singer, that I know you 
will not be pleased,” and Mr. Skinner laughed a ner- 
vous little laugh. 

“Iam sure you will try, will you not?” said Aphro- 
dite. 

“Well, if you insist on it, I s’pose I must,” replied 
Mr. Skinner. “Let me see,” said he, rubbing his 
chin and looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling; “I 
only know one piece, and not much of that. How 
does it begin?” and Mr. Skinner cleared his throat 
vehemently, twice. Meanwhile the entire company 
of dancers, and all the lovely maids of honor had 
gathered in front of him awaiting with interest the 
performance. Mr. Skinner felt himself getting un- 
comfortably warm. He cleared his throat again, 
and said: 

“HI do the best I can; it begins in this way: ‘On 
Jor — dan’s stor — my — y ba — a — nks I stand, And 
cast — ; Wait a minute. I have not got the right 
pitch. That’s too high. Let me try again: ‘On 
Jor — dan’s stor — my — y ba — a — nks I stand, And 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 285 


cast a — ’ That won’t do; it’s too low. Once more: 
‘On Jor — dan’s stor — my — y ba — a — nks I — I stand, 
And cast a — a wistful eye, To Ca — a — nyan’s fair 
and ha — a — ppy land. Where my — y possessions 
li — i — ie. 

As Mr. Skinner stopped he observed that every- 
body looked very solemn, and he thought the room 
somehow had lost some of the brilliant light that had 
filled it. He was conscious that he had not made a 
very favorable impression as a vocalist, and in a kind 
of desperation he yielded to an impulse to try again. 

“I think probably I can do a little better if you 
will bear with me: ‘On Jor — dan’s stor — my — v 
ba — a — nks I ” 

Before he could complete the line, a sudden pall 
of darkness fell upon the splendid scene before him; 
he felt a mighty rush of wind upon his face, and then 
he was whirled around and around with the greatest 
violence. He seemed for an instant to lose con- 
sciousness, and when he opened his eyes they looked 
straight upward at the serene beauty of the blue sky. 

He found that he was lying flat upon his back upon 
the plateau to which he had come yesterday evening. 
Beside him lay his umbrella and his satchel. Above 
him the sun was shining brightly, about him the cool 
breeze rustled the leaves upon the trees, while the 
music of the birds was wafted to him from the neigh- 
boring forest. He thought that the fair earth and the 
sunshine and all the things that Nature presented 
to the eye had never seemed so beautiful. 

How did he get here? That was almost the first 
question that thrust itself upon his bewildered mind. 


286 'NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 


Was it the sacred nature of the words that he had 
tried to sing that had offended his audience, or was 
it the atrocious character of his vocalization. He 
could not tell. He felt that he would give a moderate 
sum of money to ascertain. 

He looked out over the edge of the plateau, and 
there beneath him was the town. He could see the 
people moving about in the streets, and there was a 
crowd in front of his hotel. Perhaps they were dis- 
cussing his adventure and wondering what his fate 
could be. What should he tell them? The more 
he thought about it, the less certain did he feel of the 
reality of the strange and weird scenes through which 
he had passed. The impression of their actuality was 
strong upon his mind, but could he say absolutely 
and positively that he had not dreamed it all? He 
had a decided impulse to scoff at the idea. The Erl- 
king, the ghosts, and the children, the man to whom 
he talked in the garden, surely he had encountered 
them and talked with them! But did not his common 
sense revolt at the theory that he had been tumbled 
into the cavern and tumbled out again without know- 
ing how or by whose hands! 

His perplexity increased as he reflected upon the 
matter. Then, suddenly, he thought of the talk he 
had heard about one hundred years in the mountain 
passing as swiftly as a single night; was it possible 
that this had happened to him? He looked at his 
watch. It marked six o’clock. That proved noth- 
ing. The scenery about him and particularly the 
town looked the same as they had done when he saw 
them last. He determined to go down to the hotel 
and satisfy his mind. 


NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD 287 


When he reached the hotel he assured himself 
that only one night had passed. Upon reflection 
Mr. Skinner resolved not to speak of the matter to 
any of the other people about the view, but to keep 
his own counsel; and to this day he cannot positively 
say whether he followed Tannhauser into the moun- 
tain or merely had a tremendous nightmare upon 
the outside of that eminence. 


XI 


“JINNIE” 

A STORY OF A CHILD 

“ TINNIE! Vir-r-rginia-a-a! You ‘Jin’! If you’re 
I not here in a minute, I’ll whip you within 

** an inch of your life!” 

It was the shrill voice of Mrs. Tyke. Down from 
some mysterious part of the recesses of the house it 
came with the force and precision of a rifle-ball, 
through the narrow hall and open door to the ears 
of Jinnie, who was scrubbing the front steps. 

Why Mrs. Tyke desired that the steps and the 
pavement should be scrubbed upon that cold and 
dismal December morning cannot be imagined. 
Probably she herself could not have given a reason 
for it if she had been asked. The bricks looked 
very clean and wholesome before the work began, 
and the marble steps were almost painfully white. 
Now, the pavement was covered with a film of ice 
upon which pedestrians slipped and were provoked 
to anger, and the steps were positively so icy as to 
be unfit for use. 

The voice of Mrs. Tyke gave fresh impetus to the 
arm of the child, who was just giving a few finishing 
wipes to the uppermost step. She was a little child, 
surely not more than eight years of age. As she 
knelt upon the marble, rather painful prominence 
( 288 ) 


JINNIE 


289 


was given to a pair of shoes which might once have 
been the property of Mrs. Tyke herself, but which 
were now worn, as forlorn and riddled wrecks, upon 
feet which were stockingless. The thin little legs 
above the leather ruins were blue with cold, and the 
tiny arms which wielded the wiping-cloth with 
accelerated speed were bare and chapped to redness. 

If it was an offence to cover a pavement with ice 
upon such a morning, it was a bitter wrong to compel 
a little child so poorly clad to perform the work. 

Before Jinnie had replaced her cloth in her bucket, 
Mrs. Tyke appeared in the doorway with anger in 
her face. She took hold of one of the child’s ears 
with her coarse fingers and pulled her into the hall- 
way head foremost with as much force as if she had 
been shot out of a catapult. Then Mrs. Tyke, with 
a vigorous hand, boxed the ear that she had pulled, 
cuffed the other ear, impartially, knocking the child 
against the wall. 

“Fll teach you to mind me when I call you! 
Pottering and fooling with your work! Now you go 
right out into the yard and scrub those bricks in a 
jiffy, or you’ll know how the broom-handle feels.” 

Mrs. Tyke was going to have the back-yard 
scrubbed also. Why Mrs. Tyke did not scrub the 
four walls of the house, and the roof, and the chim- 
ney flues and the fence, and why she did not scrub 
the cobble-stones in the street, is an impenetrable 
secret. 

Jinnie picked up the bucket, and went staggering 
through the hall, into the kitchen, with a feeling that 
her head might at any moment tumble off, as a 

19 


it 


290 


JINNIE 


result of Mrs. Tyke’s blows, and roll upon the floor. 
She refilled her bucket at the hydrant, and began her 
work with a vigor that promised to make Mrs. 
Tyke’s back-yard within a few moments a fit place 
for skaters. 

Just before the work was done, Mrs. Tyke appeared 
at the window with her bonnet on, and in a severe 
tone gave Jinnie some directions respecting the prep- 
aration of dinner during her absence. Then Mrs. 
Tyke withdrew, and just as the front door slammed 
Jinnie saw the head of a child appear over the top 
of the partition fence, between the yards of Mrs. 
Tyke and Mrs. Brown. 

Young Miss Brown watched Jinnie putting away 
the scrubbing implements, and when Jinnie drew near 
to the fence with an apparent purpose to have some 
conversation, the little Brown said: 

“It’ll pretty soon be Christmas, now.” 

“Will it?” said Jinnie, without manifesting any 
trace of interest in the fact. 

“Yes, and Kris Kringle is coming to our house. 
Mamma said so. Does Kris Kringle come to your 
house on Christmas?” 

“Nobody ever comes to our house but the milk- 
man. He is not Kris Kringle, is he?” 

“Oh, no! Don’t you hang up your stockings on 
Christmas eve?” 

“I have no stockings to hang up.” 

“Where does Kris Kringle put all your pretty 
things, then?” 

“He don’t bring me any. Who is Kris Kringle?” 

“Why, don’t you know? He comes in a sleigh full 
of toys, pulled by reindeer, and ” 


JINNIE 


291 


“ Where does he come from? Ohio?” 

“I guess so. But he comes down the chimbley 
every night before Christmas, and ” 

“I expect our chimbley must be too little. Or 
maybe he don’t know we live here.” 

“Oh, he knows where everybody lives; all the 
little children.” 

“I’m so sorry he forgets me! Maybe it’s because 
I have no stockings! Oh, I wish, I wish I had!” 

“Won’t Mrs. Tyke lend you one of hers?” 

“I’m afraid to ask her. I wonder would Kris 
Kringle come if I put a bucket there for him?” 

“I never heard of his giving toys in a bucket. If 
he gave you a large doll maybe he would. Have you 
got a large doll?” 

“I never had any doll. I made one once out of a 
dust brush and some rags, but Mrs. Tyke whipped 
me and took it away. If I had a real doll I’d be so 
happy that I couldn’t stand it.” 

“If Mrs. Tyke whipped you for it that would keep 
you from being too happy, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why didn’t you ask your mamma to write to 
Kris Kringle to come?” 

“I never had a mamma; and no father, either. I 
was bom in an asylum, and Mrs. Tyke always says 
it’s a pity I was ever.” 

“Maybe he’d come if you’d pray to get him.” 

“I only know ‘Now I lay me.’ I learned it at the 
asylum; but I daren’t say it out loud any more.” 

“I don’t know what we can do about it, then.” 

Jinnie began to cry; but suddenly remembering 


292 


JINNIE 


the imminent probability of Mrs. Tyke’s return, she 
wiped her eyes with a rag of her dress, and said: 

“Good-bye, I must go in now. I have to get 
dinner.” 

So she ran into the kitchen, and the head of the 
youthful Brown slowly descended until it was 
eclipsed by the fence. 

Jinnie went to work to prepare the vegetables 
for dinner, with her poor little brain in such a stir 
of excitement about Kris Kringle and the possibility 
of his remembering her or forgetting her, that she 
could hardly keep her mind upon the task that her 
hands were doing; but she was recalled from her 
dreams by the sound of Mrs. Tyke’s step in the hall; 
and as Mrs. Tyke perceived that she had not been 
very industrious, Mrs. Tyke promptly boxed her ears. 
She fell to the floor, and then Mrs. Tyke kicked her 
two or three times. This energetic treatment effec- 
tively dispelled all of Jinnie’s visions of Kris Kringle. 
She had rarely had any information upon which to 
build pleasant thoughts of what life might have been 
to her; and now when her mind was taking its first 
flight into those realms of imagination wherein so 
many of the forlorn of earth find at least a taste of 
happiness, the red and vigorous hand of Mrs. Tyke 
hurled her back once more into the dreary and dread- 
ful reality of life. 

For the rest of the day Jinnie hurried through her 
myriad duties with a tremulous fear upon her that if 
she should dare even to think of that mysterious 
being who loved the little children she might invoke 
still further blows. The blows came at any rate, 


JINNIE 


293 


more than once, despite her carefulness; but that 
was always a part of her experience, and she bore 
them perhaps a little better now because she was 
looking forward with a faint suggestion of happiness 
to the night, when she should lie beneath the scant 
covering of her bed, and think without fear of harm 
of the reindeer and sleigh and the toys of the kind 
old man, who might perhaps not forget her this 
time. 

When supper-time came Mrs. Tyke ordered her to 
go to the baker’s for bread. The shop to which she 
had been accustomed to go was closed, for some 
reason, and Jinnie sought another, upon another 
street. On her way home through the dusky thor- 
oughfare she came suddenly upon a show-window 
brilliantly lighted, and filled with childish splendors 
belonging to the Christmas season. 

She had never seen so many beautiful things before. 
There were toys of all kinds, some of which she 
understood and some of which were all the more 
fascinating for the mystery that surrounded them. 
There were wagons and horses, and miniature tea- 
sets, and pop-guns, and baby houses, and jumping- 
jacks, and railroad cars, and tin steamboats, and 
make-believe soldier caps; and these were mingled 
with clusters of glass balls of various colors, which 
glittered in the gaslight in a most wonderful manner. 
But the glory of the window was a huge waxen doll 
dressed as a bride, in pure white, with a veil and a 
wreath and the loveliest satin dress. She had real 
golden hair and the softest blue eyes, that stared and 
stared as though they were looking into some 
other surprising show-window over the way. 


294 


JINNIE 


Jinnie trembled when she saw this marvelous 
doll. She had no idea that anybody ever wore such 
wonderful clothing as that. She had never dreamed 
that anything could be so beautiful. She thought 
she would be perfectly happy if she could stand there 
and gaze at it during the remainder of her life. Oh, 
if Kris Kringle would come and leave her such a doll 
as that! No, that could not be; it was impossible 
that she should ever have such a joyful experience. 
But maybe he might bring her a doll like some of the 
smaller and less splendid ones which surrounded the 
bride in swarms. Yes, she would be satisfied with 
the very poorest one of them. She would hide it 
somewhere, under her bed covering, perhaps, where 
Mrs. Tyke could not see it, but where she could find 
it and kiss it and hug it and take it close in her arms 
when she went to sleep at night. 

The thought of Mrs. Tyke came to her like a blow 
in the midst of her delight. She remembered that 
she must hurry homeward, and so taking a last, long 
look she turned and ran along the pavement, her 
heart filled with a wild, passionate longing that Kris 
Kringle would come to her and bring her something 
she could love. 

Of course Mrs. Tyke greeted her with angry words 
and two or three savage thumps. She expected that. 
But Mrs. Tyke was not content with this. When 
she sat down to supper she told Jinnie that as she 
had been unusually idle and bad that day she should 
go hungry to bed. Then Mrs. Tyke ate a partic- 
ularly hearty meal, with the child watching her; and 
when she had finished she sat by, growling and 


JINNIE 


295 


threatening, while Jinnie cleared away the tea-things 
preparatory to being marched off to bed. 

Jinnie missed her supper sadly, but she did not 
mind the hunger so much on that night, for her 
mind was busy with new delights. 

It was dark in her room, but she knew where the 
chimney was; and before she undressed she went 
over and felt it. There was a hole there for a stove- 
pipe. but it had paper pasted over it. 

“Perhaps,” said Jinnie, “Kris Kringle did not come 
because the hole w.as shut.” 

He would not come down the chimney and out 
into the dining-room, she knew, because he would 
have to go through the stove; and that would bum 
him, and his toys, too, perhaps. She thought it 
might be an inducement for him to come if she 
should punch a hole through the paper. She was 
afraid to tear it off, afraid of Mrs. Tyke’s vengeance; 
so she pushed her finger through it. Then she 
undressed, and went hopefully to her bed upon the 
floor. 

But not to sleep; she was too greatly excited. 
She began to wonder why it was that life was so 
terrible. She never imagined that her life differed 
from those of other children. It is the peculiar 
infamy of brutality to a child that the victim does 
not know how to sound the cry for the help that is 
almost always near to it. It accepts its lot as a 
thing of course; it does not know that there are 
perhaps within a few short steps of its house of 
suffering hearts that would stir with wrath for its 
wrongs, and that there is within reach a law which 
would bring retribution upon the head of its oppressor. 


296 


JINNIE 


Jinnie believed that all childhood was a time of 
punishment and misery. She saw other children 
playing in the street who seemed merry and joyous, 
and she could not understand why they were so. 
She remembered the Brown girl, also, and how she 
had heard her sometimes laughing and singing. 
Jinnie could not laugh and sing in her house with 
Mrs. Tyke near her. She thought the other children 
might be happy because they had dolls, and because 
they could have their stockings filled at Christmas 
time. She knew that grown-up people were not 
abused as she was, but it seemed such a long, long 
time to wait until she was grown up. She felt that 
when she was she would be kinder to children, and 
not strike them with the poker, at any rate, as Mrs. 
Tyke sometimes struck her. 

And if Kris Kringle should come down into her 
room through the hole in the paper, she thought she 
would like to be awake and to ask him to take her 
away with him in his sleigh somewhere. As she 
dwelt upon this she pictured herself going up the 
chimney and then flying over the roofs behind the 
reindeer, and looking back at Mrs. Tyke standing at 
the window and cursing her. And so she fell asleep 
and into a tangled maze of dreams, wherein Kris 
Kringle, Mrs. Tyke and the doll-baby bride were 
mingled in great confusion. 

Jinnie’s first thought in the morning was the last 
that she had upon the night before. But as she 
hurriedly dressed herself it flashed across her mind 
that as there was grave peril that Kris Kringle might 
not come to her, perhaps it would make matters surer 
if she should go to him. 


JINNIE 


297 


The milkman, whose cry she expected every 
moment, to her seemed a likely person to know 
where Kris lived, and to take her there. Young 
Miss Brown had rather indicated that Kris’ home 
was in Ohio; but whether Ohio was a little piece up 
the street or millions of miles away, or whether it 
was a house or a stable or a town, she did not know. 
The milkman had spoken pleasantly to her some- 
times, and he had a wagon. It was not as attractive 
as a sleigh with reindeer, but she had often longed 
to ride in it. She determined to speak to him. But 
when he came and she opened the door with a beat- 
ing heart, he snatched the pitcher from her hand and 
frowned while he filled it. He was thinking of some 
offensive suggestions made by Mrs. Tyke upon the 
preceding evening in reference to his too intense 
partiality for water; and he seemed so cross that 
Jinnie was afraid to speak to him. 

She came into the house again sorrowfully, but 
with a strong purpose to seek some other means of 
reaching Kris Kringle; and she carried this deter- 
mination with her stubbornly through all the fatigues 
and hardships of the day. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon Mrs. Tyke 
went out. Jinnie felt that her time had come. She 
resolved to make an effort to find Kris Kringle, to tell 
him of her longing desire, and to return home again 
before Mrs. Tyke got back. She put her woollen 
hood upon her head, wrapped around her shoulders 
the thin and faded rag which Mrs. Tyke dignified 
with the name of a shawl; and then she concluded 
to take a newspaper with her, so that if Kris Kringle 


298 


JINNIE 


showed any disposition to urge the doll-baby upon 
her in advance of Christmas, she could have some- 
thing to wrap it in. 

When she came out of the house she crossed the 
street so that she could notice particularly whether 
there was anything in the construction of the roof of 
Mrs. Tyke’s dwelling which would be likely to dis- 
courage Kris Kringle from attempting to reach the 
chimney. She saw that the roof was much lower 
than the roofs of the houses upon each side of it, and 
that it sloped at a sharp angle toward the front, while 
they were flat. The chimney, also, was certainly 
smaller than others in the vicinity, and the con- 
clusion reached by the child’s mind was that Kris 
Kringle had probably been indisposed to take the risks 
of running his sleigh upon so precipitous a roof for 
the sake of descending such a very narrow chimney. 

This gave a fresh impulse to the child’s purpose to 
visit Kris Kringle, so that she might plead with him 
to make a call at Mrs. Tyke’s despite the incon- 
veniences of the construction of the house. It 
occurred to her that she might possibly arrange for 
him to come to the front door and ring the bell, when 
she would come softly down stairs and open to 
receive, him. 

While she thought of the matter she walked quickly 
up the street, now somewhat gloomy in the early 
dusk, but before she had gone far she reflected that 
she ought to inquire the way to Ohio before the dark- 
ness should come. She paused to speak to two or 
three men who were hurrying by, but evidently they 
thought she intended to ask alms of them, and so 


JINNIE 


299 


they would not pause to listen to her. She was dis- 
couraged; but at last she saw a boy standing by a 
street lamp, doing nothing, and she resolved to ask 
him. 

He laughed rudely at her question and walked 
away. A moment later he turned and threw a snow- 
ball at her. It hit her in the face and hurt her 
badly; and her foot slipping upon the icy pavement, 
she fell. A moment elapsed before she was able to 
rise; but at last she got up, and although she was 
cold and weak and greatly discouraged, she thought 
she would press on. She might never have so good a 
chance again; and if she did not see Kris Kringle now, 
Christmas would come, and he would come and go, 
and there would be no doll for her. 

While she was standing there, in a very miserable 
frame of mind, a nicely dressed lady went past her. 
Presently the lady turned and looked at her; then 
she came back to where Jinnie stood and spoke to 
her. 

“What is your name, my child?” asked the lady. 

“Virginia, ma’am. But Mrs. Tyke generally calls 
me Jinnie.” She had never heard so sweet a voice. 
It seemed so beautiful, so gentle, so full of tender 
pity, that it thrilled her with a strange joy. 

“And where are you going?” 

“I am going out to Ohio, to see Kris Kringle.” 

The lady smiled; but the smile faded into a look of 
deep compassion, and she said: 

“Did your mother let you come away from home?” 

“I have no mother. I’m a bound girl.” 

“Wlio sent you to find Kris Kringle?” 


300 


JINNIE 


“Nobody. He always forgets to come to our 
house, so I was goin’ to put him in mind.” 

“Don’t you get any toys or candy on Christmas?’ 

“No, ma’am. Mrs. Tyke won’t give me any, and 
Kris Kringle forgets me. And I never tasted candy 
but once.” 

“Is Mrs. Tyke the woman you live with?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Does she treat you kindly?” 

“Whips me and knocks me down sometimes.” 

“Will you go back to her?” 

“Oh yes, ma’am. I am going right back as soon 
as I see Kris Kringle.” 

The lady took her hand and resolved to go back 
with her, and to see the terrible Mrs. Tyke. She 
told Jinnie so, and Jinnie submitted, although she 
was grieved to forego her errand. 

“Do you know who Kris Kringle really is?” the 
lady asked. 

“Yes; he brings nice things down the chimbley to 
children.” 

“He does better things than that, my dear. The 
real Kris Kringle is the Christ-child.” 

“Who is He?” 

“Did you never hear anybody tell of Christ?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“He is God. He came down here to live upon 
earth, where He suffered and died for us. He loved 
little children, for He was Himself once a child.” 

“Was He little, like me?” 

“Yes.” 

“How did He suffer?” 


JINNIE 301 

u Wicked men insulted Him and beat Him and 
killed Him.” 

“Did they beat Him and strike Him like they do 
me?” 

“Yes, my poor child.” 

“What makes Him love me? Because I am 
beaten just like He was?” 

“Yes, yes, that is it. But He loves everybody, 
good and bad.” 

“He doesn’t know Mrs. Tyke, does He?” 

“He knows everybody in the world.” 

“Where is He now?” 

“Up in Heaven?” 

“Is that farther than Ohio?” 

“Yes, that is far, far away in the skies.” 

“Then how does He get here? I always thought 
the real Kris Kringle came down chimbleys.” 

“He comes in your heart, my dear child. You 
will understand it all some day.” 

The lady seemed strangely moved as she said this 
to Jinnie; but she said nothing, and led Jinnie 
through the street, towards the child’s home. 

When Jinnie and her companion reached Mrs. 
Tyke’s house and rang the bell, Mrs. Tyke herself 
came to the door and opened it. As soon as she saw 
Jinnie she poured out at her a volley of abusive 
words, without regarding the presence of the lady 
who accompanied her. The lady remonstrated with 
Mrs. Tyke, and then Mrs. Tyke assailed her with 
her tongue. The lady then told Mrs. Tyke that she 
knew of the cruel treatment to which the child had 
been subjected, and that she would interfere if it 
were repeated. 


302 


JINNIE 


Jinnie was astonished that any one should be so 
bold as to speak with so much severity to Mrs. 
Tyke. The response made to this threat by Mrs. 
Tyke was to seize Jinnie by the arm, to drag her 
suddenly into the hallway, and to slam the door in 
the lady’s face. 

The lady stood upon the step and listened. She 
could hear Mrs. Tyke beating the child and cursing 
her; and then the sounds receded, as if Mrs. Tyke 
were dragging Jinnie into a room at the end of the 
hallway. Mrs. Tyke was in a paroxysm of fury; 
and she intended to visit upon Jinnie the vengeance 
she would have liked to inflict upon Jinnie’s unknown 
friend. 

Beating was too common and too tame a form of 
punishment. Mrs. Tyke’s ingenuity devised a more 
terrible one. She made the child remove her shoes, 
and then she tied her upon a chair, with her naked 
feet within a few inches of the hot stove. In that 
position she left Jinnie, who bore the frightful pain 
bravely, until presently she fainted. 

If there is no hell, what is going to become of 
people like Mrs. Tyke? 

When Jinnie regained consciousness, Mrs. Tyke 
sternly ordered her to go up to bed; and Jinnie 
crawled up the staircase slowly and painfully upon 
her hands and knees, suffering so much that she 
could hardly help screaming aloud. 

She reached her room at last, and flung herself 
down upon the bed. Her pain was so great that it 
was a long while before she could go to sleep; and 
she lay there thinking with all her might about Kris 


JINNIE 


303 


Kringle and the doll baby, and her adventures in the 
street, and wondering if she should ever be any 
happier. Then she remembered what little Miss 
Brown had said about praying, and what the sweet 
lady had told her about the Christ-child and His 
wondrous love; and so she thought she would try to 
pray to Him; and praying, she fell asleep. 

The lady who brought Jinnie home turned away 
with her soul filled with indignation at Mrs. Tyke’s 
cruelty to the child, and she determined to have it 
ended. She knew a man, Thomas Elwood, who was 
active in the service of the Society for Protecting 
Children from Cruelty, and she went to his house. 
He was a very plain Friend; a young man, and of a 
fair countenance. He was at home with his wife, and 
both expressed deep interest in the visitor’s story. 
The visitor left with the assurance from Elwood that 
the case would receive attention early the next morn- 
ing. 

Next morning, when Mrs. Tyke called Jinnie, 
Jinnie tried to rise, but found that she could not: 
she was too feeble and wretched. Mrs. Tyke saw 
this, and she did not compel Jinnie to get up. Mrs. 
Tyke was beginning to be frightened. , So Jinnie fell 
asleep again, and when she awoke it was broad day- 
light, and a man with what seemed to be an angelic 
face was standing beside her. It was Thomas 
Elwood. Jinnie was startled; her first impression 
was that this was Kris Kringle, come in answer to her 
prayer. But when Jinnie looked at the finger-hole 
she had made in the fire-board and at the man, and 
particularly at the circumference of his hat, it seemed 


304 


JINNIE 


to her impossible, if this was Kris Kringle, that he 
should have come in by way of Mrs. Tyke’s chimney. 

Thomas Elwood spoke to her and asked her if she 
suffered much. She said yes, and then she asked him 
if he really was Kris Kringle. 

Thomas smiled and said: 

“No, dear child; but I am thy friend, and I am 
going to take thee away from this misery and keep 
thee until thee is well again.” 

Then he lifted Jinnie in his arms, bore her down- 
stairs and out, and placed her in a carriage. 

“Where is Mrs. Tyke?” thought Jinnie. Mrs. 
Tyke was at a magistrate’s office, listening to Mrs. 
Brown and others of the neighbors while they tes- 
tified of her brutal treatment of Jinnie. The lady 
who had brought Jinnie home was there also; and 
Jinnie was kindly pressed by the magistrate to tell 
what Mrs. Tyke had done to her. 

Mrs. Tyke gave bail and went home. Thomas 
Elwood took Jinnie to his own house, and his wife 
wept as he told her how the child had been tortured. 
She carried Jinnie upstairs and washed her, and 
dressed her in clothes that Jinnie thought were won- 
derful, though they were so plain. Then she kissed 
Jinnie and said to her: 

“I once had a little girl of thy age; but a year 
ago she died. She even looked like thee, my dear.” 

Jinnie was so weak that she had to lie upon the bed 
when the washing and dressing were over; “and 
such a bed!” thought Jinnie. Thomas Elwood’s 
wife brought some breakfast up to her, and Jinnie 
thought that she had never tasted anything so good. 


JINNIE 


305 


She did not know that such delicious food could be 
found anywhere in the world. 

Jinnie grew better and stronger in a few days, and 
Thomas Elwood and his wife became so much 
attached to her that they resolved that they would 
keep her and adopt her in the place of the child that 
had been taken away from them. 

Jinnie was very happy, and she talked freely with 
them. She told them about her search for Kris 
Kringle, and about that splendid doll she saw in the 
window on the night she went to the strange 
baker’s. 

Although entertaining sentiments which forbade 
any enthusiasm for Christmas and Kris Kringle, and 
dolls in gorgeous apparel, something impelled Thomas 
Elwood to go to see that special doll. 

That night, as he sat with his wife in front of the 
grate fire in the sitting-room, she said to him, Jinnie 
being in bed: 

“Thomas, does thee think there would be any 
harm in giving Virginia a little pleasure on the 25th 
of this month?” 

“How does thee mean, Rachel?” 

“Well, she seems to have her little head filled with 
nonsense about Kris Kringle and Christmas, and as 
the poor child has had a life so full of misery, I 
thought, perhaps, we might ” 

“Thee doesn’t mean to keep Christmas in this 
house, does thee?” 

“Not exactly that, but ” 

“What would Friends say if we should do that?” 

“No; but there can be no harm in giving the poor 


20 


306 


JINNIE 


child some playthings, and we may as well give them 
upon one day as another.” 

“What kind of playthings would thee give her?” 

“Why not buy her a doll? She seemed to like that 
doll at Thomas Smith’s store very much.” 

“But, Rachel, that doll was dressed in a most 
worldly manner. Ought we to risk filling the child’s 
mind with vain and frivolous notions about dress?” 

“She has hardly had a chance to feed her vanity in 
that manner thus far.” 

“Thee would be willing, then,” said Thomas, “to 
buy for her that gaily-dressed doll?” 

“I think I would; just this once.” 

“Well,” said Thomas, slowly, “I am glad to hear 
thee say so, because today I bought that very doll.” 
And he produced it from a bundle that he took 
from under the sofa. 

Kris Kringle came to Jinnie that Christmas eve, 
and in the morning her joy as she clasped the doll 
in her arms was so great that she could not express 
it. While she was at the breakfast table Thomas 
Elwood was called to the parlor to see a visitor. 
Presently he summoned Jinnie, and when Jinnie 
came into the room she was startled to see Mrs. 
Tyke. It flashed across her mind that Mrs. Tyke 
had come to take her away, and she began to cry. 
Thomas Elwood comforted her. Mrs. Tyke had 
came to beg for mercy. She wished to escape 
prosecution. 

Thomas turned to Jinnie and said: 

“Virginia, this is the woman who has done thee so 
much harm. I can have her punished if I wish. 
What would thee do to her if thee had thy way?” 


JINNIE 


307 


“I would forgive her,” said Jinnie, timidly. 

It seemed as if Jinnie had been visited also by the 
real Kris Kringle. Mrs. Tyke was permitted to go 
unpunished. 













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